The Fear of Falling Apart
by 10 of Spades
Summary: Clove Larsen: societal reject, daughter of a hated outcast, sister of a dead tribute from infamously gory games, top of her class, famously cruel. Cato Valorious: District 2's golden boy, child of a wealthy family, brother of a mute girl, believed to be able to win it all. Together, they are the tributes of the 74th annual Hunger Games. And they will both do anything to win. R
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Clove**

_I'm having another nightmare. No, wait. Correction. This isn't a nightmare, not really. With me, nightmares are memories, and memories are things that I wish would only remain in dreams._

_ I am standing in a large, organized group of girls. To my right, the boys are lined up in the same uniform and orderly rows. These two groups of children fill the square, with the few adults either on the stage or standing under large canopies by the large stone buildings that surround the area. Looking down, I can see that I am wearing a girly cream-colored, lacey dress with a high waist and a short but full skirt. There are matching pale ribbons in my long dark hair. I turn my head, looking behind me. I am searching for someone. My eyes fall on her._

_ My sister Lin is standing about five rows back in the section for the 15-year-old girls. I wish I was there, but I am with the rest of the 13-year-olds. Lin smiles calmly. She looks so beautiful: flawless skin, twinkling bright green eyes, dimples, and gorgeous curly honey-colored hair. She stands about the same height as the other girls, though she has always been longer than the others in a respect. Her legs and arms are slim, and graceful, a quality I wish I had. I sigh, waving to her. I didn't really look like Lin or my parents. I was short for my age, had dark hair, and though I shared the trademark green eyes of my family, mine were much darker than the "Larsen norm." Lin slowly nods as I wave at her, pointing at the stage. _

_ I turn back to face the elaborate stage and the excessive red drapes. This is where my dream always skips. Usually, at a Reaping, we watch a commemorative video to the Capitol, but that day, I wasn't really paying attention. I was busy bouncing on the balls of my feet, fighting against the restrictions of the tight white dress shoes, and trying to see around the other girls. _

_ The next thing I know, a woman with a blinding smile and blood red hair is tottering to the microphone in the center of the stage. Her hair looks messy, though I am sure that it is just a new style. However, the immense amount of crimson she is wearing makes her look like a victim of the Games. _

_ The woman speaks in a voice that sounds like a wind chime. "I am sure you are all very excited for this year's selection. So marks the beginning 70__th__ Annual Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in your favor. As always, ladies first!" I knot my fingers together, eager for this year's tributes. The tributes from District 2 are usually very talented, and always have a good shot at becoming victors. In fact, not all the District 2 victors fit on our stage. They have an entirely different seating area._

_ The lady walks over to the girl's ball. The glass sphere is full to the brim with the small little slips of paper. Each one has the name of a girl between the ages of 12 and 18. For every year you have been between those ages, you have to enter your name again. Since I am 13, I only have my name in twice. You still get the jitters though. I have only finished 1 year of the training at the Academy, and my family is not well liked in District 2. My father is not the kindest man, and has a habit of drunken bragging. If I am picked, then no one will volunteer, simply out of spite. It would be a death sentence. One thing that one has to learn about District 2 to survive there: everyone wants their shot at honor, but if given the choice between honor and cruelty, the people will always choose the cruel option._

_ The escort stuffs her hand into the sphere, digging around through the slips of paper until I can't see her hand anymore. It soon appears reappears, red fingernails and all, holding a small slip of paper. _

_ My stomach feels like it is rising. My palms are sweating slightly. I wipe them on my dress as I watch the woman walk to the microphone, opening the slip like it's her birthday present as she walks. Her dark eyes flit across it, reading the name. My nerves are reaching the pinnacle. In just a second, she'll read the name, it won't be me, and I can calm down._

_ She opens her bright red lips, speaking into the microphone. "Clove Larsen," she states, eyes scanning the crowd as she does so. My stomach gives a terrible lurch. Everyone standing around me turns to look at me. I feel even smaller, even more like a small child. The girl standing next to me puts a hand on my shoulder, pushing me towards the isle to walk up to the podium. I can feel the eyes as I tremble forward. The whispering of the adults fills the silence created by the kids. _

_ It is a nightmare within a nightmare. I walk without thinking, as the Peacekeepers flank my sides. I am looking desperately at the other children, trying to order them with my mind, but no one wants to risk their life for an outcast. Their parents have no doubt told them not to waste their time on a Larsen girl. Some of the other children wear looks of pity, that someone so young could be so unfortunate. Others have faces that display no emotion, and those people avoid my eyes. Then, there are the ones who are looking at me with smug expressions, like I deserve to meet a gruesome end. I make it up the first stage before I hear a voice._

_ "Stop!" a girl shouts. "Don't let her go!" There is a disturbance in the girl's section, as someone elbows their way through. "I volunteer to take her place." A girl is running up the isle towards me. The girl is pretty, with honey colored curls and wild green eyes. It takes me a second before I register that it's Lin. She looks flustered, face flushed, eyes wild, trying to smooth out her dark blue dress. I stare at her in horror, unable to stop her, unable to fight against the Peacekeepers. She looks at me, but doesn't meet my eyes, like she is guilty of something terrible. "I volunteer as tribute."_

I bolt awake, clutching my coverlet to my chest and breathing hard. My pillow is drenched with sweat, and I can feel that my hair is all over the place. I take a couple of deep breaths through my nose, trying to calm down. Finally, after a few moments, I release my sheet, covering my face with my hands.

Lin's odds weren't in her favor. She was on the younger side of the tributes at 15, and her specialty weapon was practically useless in her arena. Needless to say, that day was the last time I spoke to her. She gave her life to save mine. It was my fault that she's dead. If I hadn't existed, or if I were a stronger girl, she wouldn't have had to volunteer for me.

I slip out of bed, still shaky. That dream wouldn't have bothered me that much if today wasn't the Reaping. It has been 4 years since I was Reaped, since Lin died, since my family fell apart. I have had 4 years to prepare myself to go into the Games just like Lin did, except I will make it out. I will win because the first round wasn't a fair fight. I'll win the Hunger Games for the both of us.

My room is pretty empty. I have my desk, my bed, and a closet. Other than that, there are no decorations, nothing that identifies it as mine. When you spend 12 hours a-day training, there is no point to spending any time in your room. Also, I won't need this old room after I leave today. When I make it back, I'll live in the Victor's Village, and I can leave my family's old house for good. The stonewalls give the room an eerie feel, though after living here for my entire life, I have gotten used to it. It comforts me.

Without thinking, I make my bed, making sure that there are no wrinkles. I have calmed down enough by now to prepare myself. Opening the closet doors, I stare at my very few choices. I have kept my old Reaping dresses, but there is no use for them now. My eyes fall on my outfit choice for today. It is a forest green dress shirt and a pair of black dress pants. Most of the girls will be wearing dresses, which is a tradition I have learned to hate. Dresses make you look vulnerable. I have watched the tapes of the 70th Reaping. My clothing made me look even weaker. I looked about 5, and appeared as if I was going to burst into tears. This time, I don't plan to hide my assets. Everyone needs to know that I mean business.

I take the hanger, moving to the bathroom to change. But first, I do the basics: brush my teeth, wash my face, etc. I am still smaller than most of the other girls in my age group, 17-year-olds, but I can run faster than any of them, and am even more agile. My four years of training has transformed me from a weak little girl into a winning tribute. I am ready to volunteer this year. The Academy chose me as their top pick. The sooner I win, the better.

I dress, content with the militaristic look that I am pulling off. I look just as stern, just as professional, and just as strong as the boys do, if not more. I grab my brush, trying to make my tangled mane that passes as hair straight. After a little bit of struggle, I get it to be passable. I haven't cut it since my sister died. The dark brown hair falls down to the bottom of my rib cage in a sleek sheet. People think I'm crazy, a psychopath that has an obsession that needs to stop. They don't understand that it is my past that keeps me pushing to meet my goals.

I gather it up at the top of my head, forming a long shiny ponytail. With a final nod, I am content, but I am missing one thing. I slink back into my room, kneeling next to my desk. Using my fingers, I open the drawer that I keep secret. As it opens, it reveals a small set of silver knives with beautiful carved handles, a birthday present that I gave myself. I grin, placing the knives throughout my clothing. I never go anywhere without them now. Who knows what could happen in District 2?

I am just on time, as I leave my small stone house, running onto the busy streets. Most of the other people are in small groups, and make sure to keep their distance. I set my jaw, making my face expressionless. I have also found in the last 4 years that emotions are under your control, and that is how you control other people.

I hear a loud voice from behind me, which I try to ignore, but I soon find that my effort is for nothing.

"Clove!" shouts a guy's voice. I walk faster. "Clove!" he shouts again. I stop walking, refusing to turn around. I feel a hand on my shoulder. My reflexes take over as I grab the wrist, twisting it around, as I spin to face the speaker. My other hand pulls a knife from my shirt.

He's a foot taller than me, with muscles obvious under his navy blue suit. He has a face that I assume would be considered handsome. He has bright gold, which is cut short on the sides, but has been allowed to grow out at the top of his head. A cocky smile, almost a smirk, but with his mouth open already gives a way his arrogance. His bright blue eyes are twinkling at me with a mischievous glare. He forcefully pulls back his hand from mine, not even breaking his calm persona.

"I see nothing has changed since we fought," he teases. I hate teasing. Unless it is for some actual purpose, than it is a waste on time.

"You mean since I beat you," I snap back. He raises his eyebrows. I know him from the Academy. His name is Cato Alexander Valorius. Like me, he is at the top of his class, but in the male division. He's also a year older than I am. This is his last chance to make it into the Games. However, our trainers decided to pit us against each other about a month ago, seeing as we were both the Academy's pick to volunteer as tributes. Cato is strong and fast for a person his size but if you get him distracted and form a basic sneak attack than the victory is pretty much yours. The fight ended when I threw a wooden knife at his chest. And I never miss.

"You got lucky," he replies, still moving around his eyebrows. "I was having an off day." I snort.

"An off day in the Games means you're dead," I point out. Cato shrugs.

"Maybe. But I don't plan to have off days." His arrogance is irritating. Arrogance is most of the careers' downfall. Cato is going to become on of those people.

"We'll see about that," I challenge, putting away the knife. "Anyway, Happy Hunger Games." I turn to walk away again. I like ending conversations. That way, I am in control. Cato is ever resilient though.

"May the odds be ever your favor Clove!" he shouts after me. I shake my head, just to myself.

"I don't need odds," I mutter. "The odds are never in my favor."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Cato**

I watch Clove walk away, feeling pretty satisfied. She leaves without looking back, in her usual fashion. I could still follow her as she walks in the crowd, but she is best when left to her own devices. But in the strangest way, I grin as I watch her go. I guess that she just intrigues me, in a way that even I don't really understand myself. Clove is different from the other people in District 2, not just in her bizarre and partially cruel personality but also in appearance. Her dark hair stands out, as does her short stature. Most people here think that it marks her as something to be avoided. Not me. Not really. I think she's beautiful in her own unique way, and her character will make her a great tribute.

Something that most people don't understand is that The Hunger Games aren't just arenas full of children and teenagers with weapons. The Games are all about strategy, about playing the game to your advantage, and doing whatever it takes to come out victorious. I have been trained since I was 10 years old to use my talents and mind to help me win, and everyone, including me, is sure as hell am going to do so without any problem.

My personal trainer and past victor, Brutus, told me that Clove would be my best pawn, but also my biggest threat. She's clever, and she won't put up with any crap. She's gone through some serious shit. I remember her sister, and I remember what happened to Clove. The 70th Hunger Games have been marked as some of the goriest in history, which is saying something when you really look at it. I am pretty sure that just her sister's death alone was enough to get it that title. My father covered my eyes, and I was 14. Everyone in District 2 was talking about it the next day. When I heard it described to me, I was glad that my dad had prevented me from watching it myself. That was also the day that the Larsen tragedy happened, and Clove's obsession began.

I hate to say it, but I am going to need Clove. She has brains, and she isn't afraid to play underhanded, as long as it gets the result she was hoping for. She knows how to play the game even better than I do. Plus, she has proven to have the ability to beat me, which means I need her on my side, unless I want a knife lodged in my chest within the first 10 minutes. Clove is an interesting issue, but one I believe I can figure out. It is always hard to get someone to work for your purposes without getting attached to them, but with a reputation like mine, I can't afford to feel anything in the Games.

I continue walking towards the square. People wave at me, already spitting out their hurried congratulatory statements. They are a small group of very few genuine friends, many jealous competitors, and a heaping amount of fans and admirers. I smile, thank them, and charm them, all that jazz. Not only is physical strength important, but so is mental, and one of the best abilities is to be able to manipulate others. Clove drives people away with her obsessions and her defensive and cruel personality, using her solitary stance to her advantage. I have a different approach. I welcome people in and then sculpt them to use for my own purposes. But deep down, we're both the same. We just want to win.

I elbow past the other guys, making my way to the front of the check in line. Some of them give me looks, but none of them say anything. I'm on top of the world, a legend. And if I win, a legend becomes a god.

The Peacekeeper at the desk looks up with a blank expression. It must be a boring job, but I have learned to just ignore the Peacekeepers in general. They don't really get in the way of anything, and they blend in after a while. The other districts make a big deal about the Peacekeepers getting stationed everywhere. In my opinion, it just isn't worth all the trouble. I hold out my hand, and he readies the needle. The prick doesn't even hurt anymore. I slam down my finger on the sheet of paper next to my name, leaving the bloody fingerprint that signifies my check in. He nods, gesturing for the next person in line to come forward.

As I start to walk toward my section, I hear someone call my name. I barely turn my head, before my mother catches my eye. Next to her are my older sister, and the twins. I grin, changing my course of direction, and doubling back to my family.

"Where's dad?" I ask as I arrive, noting his unusual absence. Normally, my father accompanies the family everywhere 24/7.

"He's talking to Brutus," Hector answers, flipping his dirty blonde hair and looking bored. His twin, Xavier, mirrors his brother's expression. They both look miserable and slightly envious. Both of the twins also happen to look ridiculous in suits: bad for them, funny for me. My mother gives Hector a terse look.

"We really do need to cut that hair," she comments. She looks at Hector's hair for a moment with a look of displeasure, before turning back to face me. "Did you talk to the Larsen girl?" She looks nervous. I eye the twins for a second, indicating that they should leave. The plans that we discuss are personal to me. I also don't want to spoil all the suspense and fun for them. "Hector, Xavier," my mother says in a hurried voice, "get to your section." Xavier groans, rolling his eyes, but after a sharp look from my mother he grabs Hector's arm, and they both hurry off to the 15-year-old boy section in the growing crowd.

"I talked to her," I answer, trying to stay positive, "but I don't know if I can get through to her. She's closed off. Everything is a threat. Nothing is benign. She paranoid, and she's still grieving for her sister. It's like the Games are a healing process for her, or a way to let go. She doesn't care about me, or any of the other tributes. She wants to win." My mother clucks her tongue, giving me a disappointed look that I am not used to seeing.

"I don't know if you understand how important this is! I saw her beat you in training Cato, she can do it again." I brace myself. My mother has always had a fiery temper and is easily agitated.

"She will do it again, if she gets the chance." I regret the words before they even come out of my mouth.

"Well then keep working on it!" She looks extremely frustrated, and her voice raises, a sure sign that my comments are pushing her too far.

"I will. I promise. But I have to focus on the Reaping now," I reason, trying to fix my little screw up. My mother's eyes soften in a familiar way.

"I'm just worried, Cato. You know…but anyway…Happy Hunger Games."

"And may the odds be ever in your favor," I answer.

"I'm going to check on your father," she announces. Then, with a squeeze on my shoulder, a teary and very proud look, she leaves.

Then it's just my sister and I. Out of the member in my family, Lea and I are the closest, and yet we are the farthest apart. We grew up together, we trained together, and we shared a room until she turned ten. We used to almost be like twins; never one without the other. Lea's two years older than I am, and pretty for her age. She has dull gold hair, which is cut short as it curves into her jaw. She has slightly tan skin. She's tall, and has a sweet smile. Her eyes are blue, the same color as mine, which is the main feature that we share.

There's only one thing wrong with Lea. Ever since she was 13-years-old, she hasn't said a word. She doesn't speak anymore.

Her one dream when she was younger was to be in the Hunger Games. She could have won too. Lea was unbeatable with a bow and arrow, could best anyone in hand-to-hand combat, and never lost when she had to fight with a sword. She was a trainer's fantasy. But the shared dream was disappointingly short-lived.

When Lea was 13, and I was 11, we went to train at the Academy just like any other day. I was working with swords and practicing on mannequins. Lea was at a different station, working on her fighting skills with a partner. His name was Joel, and he was a year older than she was. They were paired based on their skill set. During the beginning, te fight was going well. She was winning. I had paused for a moment to watch her fight. Lea was amazing, and I had always looked up to her. After about a thirty minutes of struggle, she finally had Joel in a headlock, and he was struggling to her free himself. Her face was a mask of victory. Lea knew she had won.

Then Joel pulled out a knife he'd been concealing in his pocket.

Lea's eyes widened, and he smiled at her while slashed at her arms, until she let him free. No one moved, not knowing how to react. Lea's arms were sliced up pretty bad, and she was looking at her opponent in shock. I caught something in her eyes. Something changed. The shock quickly morphed into fury. Lea lost control in her anger. The next thing everyone knew she had a bow in her hands, and had shot Joel in the head.

The trainers sustained that it was an accident. They were hoping that they could still get Lea into the Games. It wasn't worth it. The Peacekeepers let her go, but my sister never really came home from the training center. The weight of killing another human being was too much for her to bear. She looks at everyone in this hollow way that makes me wonder about…I don't know anymore. We drifted apart. The transition of our relationship was frightening. One day we were inseparable, the next, we looked at each other like we know one another.

My dad tells me that Lea was a weak girl, and that she had proven to him that all her strength couldn't fix her numerous flaws, which he believed was the only point of strength. After the disaster with Joel, dad lost interest in her. He used to be so invested in her future. Then he just discarded her. The moment he discovered that she was mute, he focused all his energy on training the twins and I. I don't know if I would ever be able to let go of someone like that.

"So…" I mutter, trying to make the situation less awkward. My efforts don't matter though. Talking to Lea is like talking to a curtain. You don't get any reaction for a while, and then you'll get the smallest little ripple if you try hard enough. "I'm volunteering. Are you excited?" Normally, my family asks yes or no questions to try and communicate. It usually works. Usually.

Lea doesn't move. Instead, she just looks straight at my chest, barely even blinking. She does this when she doesn't want to interact with anyone, and just wants to be left alone. But I just want to reach her, and I am trying to be patient.

"You know the girl who's probably going to be coming with me. You remember the little Clove girl from training?" Again, she has absolutely no reaction. I try to control my anger, but I have been cursed with a ridiculously short temper just like my mother. "Let me ask you something Lea: do you even care?" Lea's blue eyes flit up, finally looking me in the eye. For a moment, we just stare at each other, before she looks away again. I catch her nodding, just in the slightest. "Good to know." I snap. "I have to go to the my section. Everyone will be there already." Lea looks over her shoulder, like she is waiting for someone, and doesn't care. Shaking my head, I finally walk away.

I'm not going to let her get in the way of my victory in the Hunger Games. I'm not going to let anyone stand in the way of my victory. I have invested my life into this, made countless sacrifices. I have worked too hard to let the victory elude me.

Victory also means I get to live, so that's a definite plus.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Clove**

There is always an opportunity to reminisce while I stand waiting for the Reaping. I am not in the mood today though. I have had four years to mope about my losses. Now is my time. Even though the Academy wants me to volunteer, the people who dislike me will still want to steal my glory. I have to be on my toes; ready to yell the words my sister did exactly 4 years ago. I have never been more prepared.

I know the girl to my right from training: the Academy's second pick. Her name is Cleo. She towers over me, arms crossed in front of her, muscles tensing and releasing in a way that I assume is supposed to be threatening. She has wide set, strong shouldered, and her strength is visible all over her body. I have seen her train. She's a tank. Cleo is not to be crossed in close combat. Other than that, I could take her down with a flick of my wrist. But I hate her. I remember when she used to pick on me after my sister died, pushing me into the dirt and kicking me repeatedly. Oh how upset she must be that I am going to beat her to the Games.

Not surprisingly, Cleo is wearing a dress. It is gold, a color that clashes terribly with her strawberry blonde hair. Her clothing is also expensive looking but has the simply style of most of the other dresses, besides the fact that hers has a beaded bodice with silk. Though District 2 is wealthy, she looks like she belongs in District 1. No, never mind. She doesn't look dainty or sexy enough for the people there.

The girl to my left is unknown to me. She must not take part in the training part of the Academy. 75% of the kids in District 2 are part of the training program at the Academy. The majority is weeded out by the time they are 15. By then, only about 20% of the trainees remain after that. We are the ones who are the prime picks for the Hunger Games.

This girl must either be the 25% who were rejected from the program in the first place, or the 55% that were removed as they revealed their lack of potential. Her sea green eyes keep flitting back to me, as if she is afraid, but also curious. She has mousy hair that is pulled into a tight bun on the back of her head. I also note that she has prominent cheekbones, and a slim body type, though she is also taller than I am. Her arms have no visible muscles and instead look oddly delicate. At least she looks pretty in her powder blue skirt and bleach-white dress shirt. Her thin lips are pursed to go along with the rest of her tight appearance.

I roll my eyes. Cleo will be difficult. She hates me, and will do anything to try and get in to the Games before I can. I have to volunteer before she does. I think she underestimates me. I reach to my belt, fingering a knife. I can feel tension radiating from both girls around me.

There is a loud thumping noise, as I now notice that the escort has taken the stage and is tapping the microphone. She is the same woman that was at the 70th Reaping. However, it seems she has dropped her hideous past rend of red. This year she is wearing excessive amounts of gold and silver. Her hair is shimmering with entwining strands of what looks like pure gold. On top of that, she is wearing a large headdress, at least one foot tall. It appears to be made of silver arrows and other similarly colored weapons. Her dress is just as gaudy, with the same theme: weapons. She has on so much metallic makeup it is freakish. I don't know which set of colors I rather prefer, the reds or the metals. I do know on thing now though. Her name is Ophelia.

"Welcome District 2!" she says in her crisp and extremely annoying Capitol accent. However, the crowd around me gives a loud cheer. Everyone is excited, as per usual. It is surreal to watch clips from the poorer districts, where the mothers cling to their children, even when the tributes are 18-year-old and should be able to handle the Hunger Games. It's ridiculous.

"Yes, welcome!" Ophelia reiterates. "Welcome to the 74th Annual Hunger Games!" The crowd surges again, shouting with glee. Next to me, Cleo gives an especially loud cheer. I don't make a noise, focused. "But before we get to the Reaping, we have a video to show you as usual." Ophelia steps to the side, gesturing to a large screen that has been set up behind her.

The film begins, showing the story of the Hunger Games, which everyone has heard at least 100 times by now. I don't care about the history though. The other part of the film talks about the bravery of the tributes, their strength, and their passion. I smile to myself, picturing myself winning the Games. For a moment, I let myself slip into a fantasy.

With a jolt, I snap out of it. Calm down Clove. You haven't won yet. The video ends, and everyone respectfully applauds. Ophelia applauds along with them, her cheery laughter ringing in my ears.

"Now, residents of District 2, the Reaping begins!" Ophelia spreads her arm as the audience explodes once again. I smile, clenching and unclenching my hands. I am so ready. I have waited 4 years. Now comes the payoff.

My mind buzzes as Ophelia slowly walks over the girl's bowl to select a name. I have to be quick. Just like I am in a fight, my approach must be to waste little energy, but to be effective. Ophelia smiles, digging through the names that are almost overflowing from the glass sphere. Finally, she holds up a single piece of paper, one name, with a triumphant look on her face.

Her walk back to the microphone feels like it takes an eternity. I crane my neck, trying to see around the other, taller girls. Reaching the center of the stage at last, Ophelia gives the crowd an excited grin, before opening the name. I can feel my heart beating in my throat. Now is the moment I have been waiting for.

Ophelia opens her mouth. "Cleo Fitzgerald." I give a shout of happiness. Cleo will be unable to volunteer against me. That takes out my biggest competition. As Cleo begins to walk, I grab her shoulder, shoving her back and running to the center of the isle, all the while shouting.

"I volunteer!" I shout at the top of my lungs. "I volunteer!" Ophelia looks at me with a pained look. I can tell that my volunteering doesn't excite her. Escorts are ranked based on which district they are assigned to. If you are deemed worthy, you are assigned to District 1, 2, or 4. The more the tributes from your assigned district win, the higher you are viewed in the eyes of the Capitol. An escort usually begins in a lower District, such as 10, 11, or 12. Ophelia is obviously highly ranked, seeing as she is here. Getting a volunteer that looks weak is a blow to her own status. If I don't do well, she could get moved down and replaced by an escort who had better tributes.

Despite her obvious lack of enthusiasm, Ophelia gestures me to come forward to the stage. I catch the eye of my personal trainer, Nix. She is smiling proudly, nodding her head. I don't know if she will be in charge of the Hunger Games training this year, but I personally hope so.

I step up onto the stage, feeling my face break into a mask of pure joy. Ophelia continues nodding, though her expression looks forced. "Your name?" she asks.

"Clove Larsen," I announce, scanning the crowd instead of looking at my escort.

"Moving onto the boys now," Ophelia says, her twinkling and melodic voice sounding strained. She leaves me in the center of the stage to Reap the next name. I stare straight in front of me, containing my pleasure. I hear the rustling of the slips as Ophelia picks the next name. This time, she rips open the name before she reaches the microphone.

"Vincent-" Before Ophelia can even finish reading the name, a roaring voice erupts from the crowd. I see a flash of gold hair as someone exits the 18-year-old boy section.

"I volunteer as tribute!" It is, of course, Cato. Unlike the reaction to my volunteering, the crowd begins clapping, shouting words of encouragement. Ophelia's reaction is also very different. Her face lights up as she walks Cato jog up to the stage. He is an escort's dream: tall, visibly strong, and good-looking.

Ophelia doesn't even need to ask for his name. Cato grabs the microphone himself. "Cato Valorious." Our escort looks ecstatic.

"Ladies and gentlemen of District 2, I give you your tributes for the 74th Annual Hunger Games, Cato and Clove!" The crowd roars, many are pumping their fists. Ophelia turns to us and tries to speak over the noise of the crowd. "Tributes shake hands." Cato grabs my hand forcefully, as we shake. He is giving me a luminescent smile, complete with that bright twinkle in his eyes. I raise an eyebrow, an expression that I make constantly nowadays. He responds by winking and smiling even wider. Hand in hand, we face the crowd, Cato pulling my arm upwards, so that both of us are raising our linking arms. Cato shouts something into the crowd, before the Peacekeepers pull us back towards the Justice Building, each going our separate ways.

The room they leave me in the same room where I said my final goodbye to Lin. It is made of stone of course, though it is well decorated. There are red velvet curtains covering the windows. On one wall, there is a portrait of President Snow, along with many other smaller portraits. I recognize them. They are the numerous victors. District 2 has always been fond of bragging about their glory, and this is one way to do so. On the other side of the room, there is a handsome looking desk along with a large chair padded with identical red velvet.

I'm not expected visitors, so I decide to at least relax. The chair is a welcoming option. I lounge back in it, closing my eyes and waiting for the moment when I can leave District 2 for the Capitol.

The last time I was here, everyone was crying. My dad hadn't bothered to come and talk to Lin before she left. It was just my mother and I. Lin had been standing by the covered windows, trying to look strong, though the tears that slowly leaked from her eyes gave her away. My mother had been embracing Lin, stroking her gorgeous curly hair. I had been hugging myself as I sat in the corner on the floor. Like everyone else, I was crying.

The door to the room creaks open, waking me from my daydream. I bolt out of the chair; hand already on the knife in my pocket. A Peacekeeper enters the room, followed by the mousy girl who had stood next to me during the Reaping. I look at her with a skeptical look. What was she doing here? I didn't even know her.

The Peacekeeper nods at me, before leaving the two of us in the room alone. For a moment, we just stare at each other, like we both have no idea what we are doing together.

"Who are you?" I finally ask, breaking the silence. "Why are you here?" She looks at her feet, tugging at her dress shirt.

"My name is Cecily Brambleton," she replies.

"Is that supposed to mean anything to me?" I counter, still confused as to why someone I have never spoken to before would come to see me off to the Hunger Games.

"It might not," she admits. "But I needed to talk to you."

"Why?" I let go off the knife. She seems to be genuine, but she also looks slightly scared.

"I was a friend of Lin's from school." I turn my head a little bit, trying to hide any sort of reaction that is out of my control. Knowing me, I probably winced.

"So?" I choke, not looking Cecily in the eye.

"I never got to say goodbye to her, because I never really thought about what could happen to her. I don't know you Clove, but you remind me of Lin, just a little."

"I'm not my sister," I am blinking rapidly now, something that I do when trying to compose myself. "You should go." Cecily takes a step closer.

"I came to give you something." Finally, I look back at her. For the first time, we make eye contact and actually hold it for a second. Cecily is twisting around her wrist, pulling something off of it. I stare at her as she holds out one hand. In it is a small bracelet, made seemingly of string. The bracelet is obviously handmade, with threads of gold and dark green that intertwine in a beautiful but simple circle.

"Where did you get this?" I ask, baffled. Cecily looks guilty, looking at her feet again.

"It's a friendship bracelet that Lin and I made in class one day. She had the on I made, and she gave me the one she made. I held onto it all this time, and it just doesn't feel right to keep it when you're going into the Games just like she did." Cecily takes another step towards me, hands outstretched. "Take it."

I hesitate, unsure of myself, unsure of whether I really want it. Cecily looks at me with hopeful eyes that beg me to reach out and take back my sister's bracelet.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." With that, Cecily drops the bracelet into my palm. "Happy Hunger Games Clove." The door opens and the Peacekeeper enters once again.

"Time's up." He announces. Cecily give me a small wave.

"May the odds be ever in your favor," she finishes, as she is lead out of the room.

Slowly walking back to the chair, I try to ignore the ringing in my ears. The bracelet fits perfectly onto my wrist. I stare at it for a moment; letting myself remember the day that has been haunting me since the day it happened.

_Lin smiles kindly, her lip quivering as she pushes my mother away. I lift my head from knees as my sister kneels next to me. "Clover," she whispers in a soft and soothing voice. Lin puts a hand on my shoulder. "None of this is your fault. I promise you."_

_ "I got picked. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have to-" She shakes her head, causing me to break off._

_ "I don't have to do anything Clover. I chose to fight for this." I hug Lin around her shoulders._

_ "Promise me you'll try to come home." I am sobbing freely now._

_ "I promise you Clover," she whispers as her tears wet the shoulder of my dress. "I swear I'll try my hardest to come home to you."_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Cato**

My father pats me on the back. "You've done well Cato." The entire family is huddled in the visiting room. The room isn't small or anything, but my parents and brothers are positioned in a relatively close proximity to me. Lea has stationed herself in the corner, leaned up against the wall with her arms crossed and shoulders hunched, distancing herself from the rest of the family.

"Thanks," I reply, smiling widely.

"You're going to win," Hector comments, looking at me with a look of admiration that I'm not used to seeing from him. My brother is often a cynical person, and very little will get him excited.

"All you need to do is take care of that Clove girl and you won't have a problem," Xavier agrees, carrying the exact same expression as his twin. I swear, sometimes they are so alike it is like the twins are one person. But there are differences. Xavier is more optimistic and outgoing than Hector and Hector is more involved in the training program. Maybe, when I win, Hector will become a victor too.

"Have you seen the other Reaping tapes?" I ask my parents. My mother shakes her head.

"I've just seen the head shots from their ID's. There shouldn't be that many threats. The tributes from 1 look okay. The girl from 4 also looks like she has promise, hopefully for the career alliance. Other than that, the rest of them look like the typical outer district tributes. Though, there is a boy from 11 who looks about your size and just as strong." I nod. Most of the threats can be turned into allies, while the others will likely just be scared little kids as usual.

"Is Brutus going to be mentoring this year?" I ask my father hopefully. He frowns.

"Sorry son, not this year." I can't help but be disappointed. The mayor usually selects mentors when there are more than one to pick from. In District 2's case, there are exactly 57 living mentors to choose from. Brutus is a popular pick because of his glorified reputation, which is the reason I trained with him. However, with a different mentor, the rules have changed.

"Otto and Nix are the mentors this year," My mother clarifies, searching my face for any sort of reaction. She gets worried when I am under stress. I tend to…explode. Instead, I sigh. It could be worse. Otto should be a good mentor. He was the winner 5 years ago. The only thing I don't like about him is that he doesn't use a lot of strategy once in the Games. He was great at manipulating the viewers when it came to the Tribute Parade and the Interviews, but once he got in the arena, he became a mindless murderer, barely regarding his alliances and not caring. But again, it could be worse.

This may be the first time in my life I wish I had a female trainer. Nix will be mentoring Clove, which is also an advantage seeing as Nix is also Clove's personal trainer. Nix is a victor who won on all fronts. She immediately had set up an angle for herself once she volunteered. From the very beginning, Nix was the calm and calculating daughter of District 2's mayor. Her father is not in office anymore, but it worked. She was the Capitol sweetheart, getting all the sponsors and winning the support of practically everyone. It also helped that she was skilled with an axe and didn't care who she had to step on to win. Despite her viciousness, Nix was still able to seem strategic rather than cruel, which kept the sponsors coming. Maybe Otto and Nix will switch for a session and I'll get to at least talk to her.

"It's a shame," I comment, trying to hide my disappointment and slight intimidation. "Whatever. I don't really need a mentor's help that much anyway." My parents smile fondly.

"That's the right attitude," my father chuckles. I smirk back at him, an expression that he believes is a display of confidence. He rests a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it slightly. The door opens suddenly, as the Peacekeeper who led my family into the room comes to remove them. "Well then Cato," my father says, letting go of me and taking a few steps backwards, "we'll see you when you get back. Show no mercy!" He sort of yells his last sentence, which happens to be a mantra of his.

Hector and Xavier shake my hand, muttering, "May the odds be ever in your favor" in unison. They have strange forlorn looks on their faces. I don't understand their melancholy. When I get back, my family will be famous and will be honored by District 2. What is there to be sad about?

My mother gives me a hug, telling me to not make stupid mistakes or to get too cocky. I return her proud smile along with a goodbye as she leaves the room along with the rest of my family and the Peacekeeper. I look around the empty room, feeling exhilarated and beaming at no one. Then it hits me, like a punch to my jaw. Lea. I didn't even see her leave.

I rush to the door, beginning to pound on it. The door opens a crack, revealing the Peacekeeper, looking at me with tired eyes. "I didn't get to speak with my sister," I beg, trying to seem as desperate as possible using only my eyes. The Peacekeeper doesn't react.

"Sorry, but visiting time is over. Your escort will be here to collect you shortly." He shuts the door in my face.

If I were thinking rationally, I would realize that freaking out about saying goodbye to Lea is stupid. I would just tell her goodbye, tell her to take care of herself, and she would just stare at me. There was no point in even wasting my time. Besides, I would get to see her after the Games were over. But I had this terrible, desperate feeling in my stomach that I couldn't ignore. I felt like someone had just denied me the right to breathe, and I could feel the anger bubbling up in my throat.

My mother has tried to help me with controlling my emotions since I began training. I used to be on meds for anger management and I had regular and violent outbursts. The doctor claimed that it was a common "side-effect" of the training program. Kids are bred to kill and to hurt, and the bottled up emotions end up exploding with very little provocation, and when they do explode, the result is violent. I got off the medication when I was 13, when my father decided that the meds were "affecting my performance in training" and were making me "lethargic." Then I was on my own, and I don't do well alone.

I take a couple of deep breaths, which successfully does absolutely nothing. I try sitting down, which also does not help me at all. Rocketing from my seat, I raise my arm and to prepare to slam it against the wall. Before I can vent however, the door opens, surprising me into lowering my fist.

"Cato," a man says, entering the room. His voice is rich and slightly throaty. I recognize his almost immediately: Otto Redman, my new mentor. "It's good to meet you." He offers his hand, which I walk over and take.

Otto is a large man, larger than I am, which broad shoulders and muscles popping out of every area that is covered in skin. I can see a vein pulsing in his neck as he speaks, as if he is always under some sort of stress. His salt and pepper hair is cut in a short, militaristic haircut that parallels his overall appearance. His dress shirt is a pale blue and expensive looking, though he wears it like a t-shirt. I can't help but noticing that two of the buttons are in the wrong holes. Otto doesn't seem to care though. In fact, he is grinning like he is on top of the world.

"Good to meet you as well," I reply, nodding respectfully. Otto looks downright giddy.

"I can't even say how happy I am that I get to work with you this year," he blurts. "I was worried that the tributes would be sub-par like they've been the past few year. 2 years of miserable candidates. That looks like it's about to change." I nod, not really sharing his excitement, but still anxious to get on the train and begin the adventure of being part of the Hunger Games. "The train is leaving soon. We should leave." The moment Otto turns his back, I roll my eyes. Obviously we should go to the train. I wasn't here to have a chat with him.

We take the backdoor out of the Justice Building. I see a flash of bright red hair, spotting Nix and Clove. Nix is definitely a victor who embraced the Capitol. She didn't get anything freakish done to her, but she dyed her formerly blonde hair cherry red, contrasting heavily with her pale skin, and got a tattoo at the nape of her neck that was based off of her victor's crown. Other than that, she looks normal. She has sharp looking brown eyes and though she is petite, Nix stands several inches above Clove. She and Clove are speaking enthusiastically to one another like old friends. I guess they are old friends when you really think about it.

Otto raises one hand to hail Nix as if she is a cab. There aren't many cars in District 2, but I have heard about cab hailing from school. It is supposed to be very common in the Capitol. Out of the corner of my eye I see a flash of silver and gold. Ophelia Wishing. Just like the names from District 1, I have always found the names from the Capitol odd. They don't roll of the tongue. I also find the perkiness and accent annoying.

Ophelia waves as she hurries towards Nix and Clove. Otto grabs my arm, pinching it slightly in his gigantic hands. I am disappointed to see that Clove is obviously not paying attention to anyone except Nix. It will be difficult to make an alliance with her if I never get to talk to her. She doesn't even look in my general direction as Otto leads me towards the small group. I am used to being noticed by not just girls, but by everyone. It feels strange to be ignored.

"Cato. Otto. You're here. Good." Ophelia speaks in her airy voice off stage, as well it seems. I also notice that she is talking very fast, as if there is a big rush. Her hands are fluttering, jingling the metallic bracelets that cover her wrists all the way up to her elbows. "The train station is just down the street, and we still have," Ophelia pauses to look at a watch, "8 minutes. It should take us about 3 minutes to walk there. We won't have to rush." Ophelia takes another moment to gather herself. "Then let's go."

Clove snorts, trying to cover up a burst of laugh. I can't tell whether or not Ophelia hear it seeing as she just tossed her hair and began shakily walking down the dusty road. Nix gives Clove a smile, beginning to follow Ophelia.

"Don't let her hear you do that, or we're all in for one of her speeches on manners." Clove rolls her dark green eyes, biting her lip to keep herself from breaking in a smile. I realize that I barely ever see Clove smile. It complements her, and somehow makes me want to smile along with her. I resist the urge to hit myself in the forehead for a second as I follow the group. I am thinking of Clove than more than just an ally. The moment a person becomes human to you, they have become a weakness. I can't afford to let Clove become my weakness.

"Do you and Clove know each other?" Otto asks out of the blue. For a moment, Clove looks at me, as if for the first time. Her half-smile falters, and our eyes lock. It is a staring contest in that one second, each of us refusing to look away.

"Not…" Clove begins, finally looking away. She trails off. "No, not really." Nix shrugs at Otto.

"They can pretend Otto. They've been trained to be actors." I look from Otto to Nix. They have been planning something, something that I don't like the sound of.

"Pretend what?" I ask, suspicious. Clove looks equally confused. Her mentor looks at her with something that looks like pity.

"Otto and I were thinking that we had an angle for you two," she confesses. "The Capitol loves a good tragedy." Nix opens her mouth to continue speaking, but Clove cuts her off.

"Isn't my life enough of a tragedy for you?" she snaps. I can practically feel her radiating disapproval.

"We were thinking that we could go for something different," Otto cuts in. "You and Cato have potential. I've seen you in training, and I've seen you be able to manipulate other people. Nix and I were thinking that you two could pretend to be close or best friends. Put some humanity into your new identities. Maybe you two could even-"

"No!" Clove almost shouts. The mentors look at her with shocked faces. "I know what you're about to suggest, and I refuse to do any of it!"

"Clove," I try to interject, "don't you think-"

"I'm not pretending anything! Especially that Cato and I are…are…" She gets flustered for a second, before collecting herself. "I won't play this stupid little game of the Capitol's. I joined the Hunger Games to fight, not to act out a tragedy on a stage." With that, Clove hurries her pace, walking out of our earshot.

**A/N: Hello lovely readers! Thank you for taking a look at my little story. I really appreciate you guys reading and possibly enjoying this. I just decided to interject here at the end to thank you all, and to make some announcements. If you haven't caught the hint yet, there will be Clato in this story…eventually…later on. I also wanted to say that I would update this hopefully every other day from now on. Once again, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy this and what's to come.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Clove**

The pillow feels reassuring as I hold it onto my face. I arrived at the train far before any of the others, definitely before Cato and Otto. Nix gave me a dry look when I looked over my shoulder, but I didn't care. She's tried to sell that little idea of hers before, and keeps expecting me to accept it. They say that true madness it doing something over and over and expecting a different result. If so, than Nix is the most insane in all of Panem.

The Peacekeepers let me into the train anyway, leading me to the room that I would stay in for the majority of the 4-hour trip. I wasn't in the mood to speak to anyone, even Nix. She knows that I hate her unexpected announcements. I wasn't prepared to counter anything she said, and I lost it.

The room was well furnished, though simple. The bed was larger than I was used to, though it didn't really matter; I wouldn't be sleeping here. The bedding was a pale blue, with darker blue pillows. I learned in District 2 that such colors were meant to be soothing, because they don't stimulate the brain as much as other shades do. The room they kept me in after the accident was blue, but it didn't stop any hysterics.

In one corner, there is a stainless steel closet, looking very clean cut and shiny. The Capitol seems to only have two different styles: ridiculously gaudy, or industrial and professional. You'd be surprised how rare the later is. I haven't looked in the closet yet. The clothes that I'll wear for my first entrance into the Capitol are in there, and something makes me uncomfortable at the thought of leaving behind my simple Reaping clothes, the only part of me that I will get to keep until the actual Hunger Games.

There is also a bedside table, made of the same type of industrial material. Bolted onto are a lamp and a clock. The lampshade is also the same shade of sky blue that seems to be the theme of the room. The clock reads 13:30. It's later than I assumed it to be. By 17:30 we'll be in the Capitol, and then the tribute parade will ensue after the arrival of all the other tributes.

After a couple more minutes of brooding anger, I throw the pillow across the room, where it collides with the silver mirror hanging on the opposite wall. There is a slight thump, and the pillow does absolutely no damage. Sighing, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, letting my toes rest on the plush carpet. The carpet is furry, and, surprisingly, cream-colored. I had thrown my boots into another corner upon entering, and have no desire to put them back on.

I'm going to have to leave the room eventually. I have fully accepted it, but am also in denial. I know I need to leave, to confront the problems instead of expressing displeasure and running. But I don't want to. It has become a bad habit that I hate myself for having. There is a certain kind of trouble that makes me just want to curl up in a ball under the bed and never leave again.

Internally, I have finally decided that I'm going to go talk to Nix. I reach for the door handle, my hand grasping the cool metal. As I pull it open however, someone on the other side has also meant to open it, and it's someone stronger than I. In the half second in which both of us attempt to open the door in different directions, the momentum opens the door widely. In the doorway, framed by the bright lights of the train hallways, is Cato.

He is no longer wearing his suit jacket or tie, leading me to believe that he has also found his room. For the split second where he is unprepared to see me, his face looks nervous, almost timid. He recovers though, setting his face into a smirk, one eyebrow raised, clear blue eyes sparkling. Cato rests one arm on the doorway, causing him to seem even more arrogant than usual. He looks like a true career tribute: bloated ego, handsome face, brutal spirit. Sometimes I hate him for it.

"Someone got a little too excited to leave the room," he teases, flashing his bright smile.

"Someone was anxious to see me," I fire back. To my dismay, it just makes Cato grin wider. I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

"I wanted to talk to you about the mentor's plan." I can see that nervous edge come back into his face, though he is still fighting to seem casual.

"That isn't up for discussion." Cato's mouth twitches, as he crosses his arms in front of his chest.

"You really _are _defensive Miss Clover." He meant it as a joke, but I refuse to take it as such. Only my close family called my Clover, and I will not have my competitor calling my as such.

"You call my that again I will personally make sure that I carve up your face the minute we get in the arena." Cato gives a surprised snort, as if suppressing a laugh.

"That's why I called you defensive. Anything that gets the tiniest bit under your skin has to be immediately eliminated." He smiles slightly, appreciating his own statement. "That's no way to live. You have to step out of your comfort zone, have some fun, let people make jokes." I purse my lips, conveying my disapproval.

"I live my life the way I want to Cato. You're not my life coach." I grab the handle of the door, hoping to close it. If I have to deal with this asshole than I don't want to talk to Nix. Cato catches the door on the other side, holding it in place.

"If it affects our chances at sponsorship, than I'm afraid that it's my job to become your life coach." I begin to become frustrated.

"Some sort of doomed friendship story isn't going to get us sponsors," I reply, pushing on the door harder. He doesn't even flinch.

"You're right Clove. That's why Otto and Nix wanted to take it to the next level: so we can get sponsors."

"I don't need sponsors," I say, realizing that at this point I'm just being difficult. "I control my own fate in the games."

"Then you need sponsors."

"Sponsors are not worth what they're asking us to do." Cato is also becoming visibly irritated.

"Is your _life_ worth a fake love story? Would you rather die than do a little bit of freaking acting? You know, for a moment, I thought you were a tribute who could rival me," his eyes flash dangerously, "but you obviously don't know how to play the game."

"I can play the game better than any of those other tributes," I snap. My knuckles are turning white as I grip the door handle.

"Obviously not!" Cato replies. "You're mind is so clouded with your personal feelings and ideas that it's impossible for you to manipulate anything in there, especially the sponsors!"

"Those ideas keep me alive! They kept me fighting to participate in the Hunger Games!" I try to keep my voice down.

"Those _ideas_," he spits, eyes looking like they are on fire, "will be your downfall." I let go of the door suddenly. Cato doesn't have the time to adjust to the change. He was still pushing. The door swings into my room, causing him to stumble along with it.

"Get out," I threaten. "I don't want you in here!"

"I'm trying to help you! Nix is trying to help you! Otto is trying to help you! You're just too stubborn to see it!"

"We'll see how that works out in the arena! You say you're trying to help me, but when the time comes we'd all kill each other!" Cato stares at me for a second, before he shakes his head.

"It's the Hunger Games." His voice has lowered. He's no longer shouting, but I can hear his voice shaking. "We do what we need to so we can survive. This angle is what we need Clove. The careers are famous for their ferocity, their brutality. We're the careers now. Imagine how much it would help everyone to see that we have a heart." I shake my head.

"They don't care. The Capitol is watching to see kids kill other kids," I point out.

"They want entertainment. You know what the most popular television programs out there are besides the Hunger Games? Dramas. That's what they want."

"I don't care!" Cato looks at me with an expression I've never seen before. It's a mixture of pity, anger, frustration, and something else.

"You're not fooling me right now!" Cato whispers. "This isn't just about your sister, or about your dignity. There's something else."

"I don't care!" I say again, shoving him in the chest. It does almost nothing. Cato takes a step back that same strange look on his face. I expect him to leave. Everyone has a breaking point, and I'm approaching his. Or at least, that's what I expected. I wasn't prepared for what happened next.

Cato took a step forward, and everything was happening so quickly I didn't know what was going on. In the rush, Cato leaned over, and cupped my face, pulling my upwards towards him. Our faces collided, though not in a dangerous way, but it felt oddly forceful. It took me an ignorantly long moment to realize that he was kissing me.

As quick at the kiss had began, it abruptly end. Cato let go of me, and was back to standing in the doorway, eyes smoldering, though not looking me in the eye. I could feel the anger rises in my throat, but I was trying to fight it down, trying to control it.

"Was that so hard?" Cato breaks the silence. "Really, is it worth all this-"

"Get out." Cato raises his eyebrows, as if he is daring me to do something.

"Clove-" I don't have a choice. He's taken it a step too far. It was too far to even begin the conversation. I reach onto my belt, fingers curling around the carved handle of one of the knives. I whip it out in one smooth arch, holding it in front of my face in attack stance, with the blade turned towards him, and my wrist ready to throw. I would never kill him now, but he doesn't know that. For all Cato knows, I'm a loose cannon, capable of anything.

"Please, get out. Now." He reacts subtly, but not the way I thought he would. Cato shakes his head, raising both arms in surrender. He looks so disappointed. I feel a twinge in my chest. There is nothing that hurts like that feeling when you know that you've disappointed someone. He bites his lips, the sides of his mouth curling into a forced and spiteful smile. He takes a step back, giving me room to close the door. But I pause, looking at him for a second.

"Fine," Cato half-laughs. His smile twists, becoming that of a sadist. I have seen that type of smile before. "Shut me out, like you do everyone else." Cato's voice has become almost taunting. "Look where that's gotten you! Don't play to the sponsors. See how much I care. Go on Clove! Close the door on your only chance to at least get to the final eight." I feel my face twitching. Willing it to stop, I grab the door handle once again.

"With pleasure," I spit, slamming the door in his face. I rest my head in my hands, turning my back to the door, and sliding down into a sitting position, back leaning against the wall. I can hear Cato walk away.

Part of me wishes that I had left the door open, given someone a chance to come in. Cato wasn't wrong. I know that I need sponsors, and that the star-crossed lover angle could get us the most. But there is a reason that I don't let anyone in. It's not about honor, or strength, or glory. It is a basic principle of human nature.

The Hunger Games are a place for the survivors, the cruel, the wicked, whatever you want to call them. A love story could help Cato and I survive, but it would also seal our fate. Once you allow someone in, you can't get them out. They are a part of you, part of what defines you. And I know how it hurts when a part of you dies. If I agreed to be part of the little love games, I would let Cato become important to me, at least a friend, and then I'd have to watch him die.

I don't have anyone left, except myself. If I want to save myself, than Cato has to die, but at the same time, I need to ally myself with Cato to save myself. I am doomed if I do, doomed if I don't.

But I know that Cato now clearly sees that I have made my choice.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Cato**

It's funny how a simple knock at the door can convey many things. The knock could be timid, anxious, angry, irritated, casual, etc. Currently, the knock at the door seems desperate.

"Cato?" The voice is Otto's. I can tell that he is becoming nervous about the fact that I didn't reply the first three times he called. Honestly, I just didn't want to.

"What is it Otto?" I call, bored, as I shift the pillows behind my head. Otto will be pissed if he sees me sprawled out on the bed like this.

"The Reapings are playing," he replies, voice carrying through the doors. I sit up, pushing myself off the bed. I walk over to the door, opening it. Otto smiles when he sees me. He looks relieved, but I can see his also a bit worried. "How did your talk with Clove go?" I clench my fists, trying to show no disappointment, frustration, or embarrassment on my face, all of which I am currently feeling.

"Clove isn't interesting in participating in any sort of fake relationship or acting," I say simply. "She was adamant about it too. She's not doing it Otto." Otto looks down, before smirking slightly.

"That's fine. I have another idea for you." Frankly, I'm not interested, but I'm not saying so. Clove has ruined enough of my chances and strategies. I can't let her destroy anything. I have to get her out of my head.

"Is she allowed to have weapons?" I ask Otto nonchalantly as we walk down the hallway. Otto suddenly stops walking.

"Of course not! Is she armed?" For such a large and obviously strong man, Otto looked pale at the mention that Clove might be in possession of anything.

"She has concealed knives, the throwing ones." Otto rubs his forehead with the heel of his hand.

"I swear: this girl is going to be more trouble than she's worth." He puts a hand on my shoulder. "The Reaping tapes are playing at the room at the end of the car. I need to talk to Nix about this for a moment." I nod. Otto flashes a smile before turning off onto another hallway to my right.

The room he described is different than the tributes' rooms, which are clean cut and relatively simple. It is lavishly decorated, with bright apple greens, violets, and turquoises being the main colors. There is a glass table, displaying many different kinds of Capitol dishes, each looking more extravagant than the last. Past the table of food, there is a large screen mounted on one wall, larger than anything my family has ever owned at home. There is a large plush coach, made of garishly colored aqua velvet. There are similar chairs positioned in a sort of semicircle around the television. Each chair is made of a different material, and colored with different variations of blue-green. I'm surprised. Districts 1 and 2 are supposed to be the richest of all the districts, yet we still barely compare to the Capitol.

The screen shows Caesar Flickerman, sitting, as usual, at the news desk. His hair is dyed a powder blue this year, and his ridiculous amount of makeup mirrors the same hues. "Welcome viewers! The 74th Annual Hunger Games have officially begun!" Caesar slaps his hands on the desk for emphasis.

I walk around the table, and position myself on the couch, arms crossed. It takes me a moment before I realize that Clove is already in the room. She's curled up in the large armchair to the left of the couch, with her legs tucked under her body, and her chin resting on of her hands.

"You're lucky; they haven't started yet," she comments, not even looking at me. I nod, also not making eye contact. If this is how it's going to be for the rest of the games then it's going to be a long and bumpy ride. On the screen, Caesar continues with his usual banter.

"This year, as usual, we have a wonderful array of tributes coming from every district! So relax, pull back a chair, as we go over the highlights of this eventful Reaping, and take a look at our tributes!" I hear the door open behind us, and then slam. As I turn my head, I can see Nix stalk in, looking peeved, as Otto follows behind her.

"Clove!" Nix says through her teeth, sounding dangerous. Next to me, Clove turns her head to look at her mentor. "How many times did I tell you to leave your knives at home today?" Clove throws me a piercing and dangerous look, before she stands up to face Nix.

"I don't know," she answers in a flat tone. Her eyes keep flitting back to me, each time appearing more furious than the last. Her conversation with Nix is reminding me more and more of the discussion between a mother and her child.

"You could have been disqualified!" Clove averts her eyes, not looking her trainer in the eye. With that, she begins pulling out her concealed weapons. Just when I thought that she couldn't possibly be hiding anymore, she would pull out another one. In the end, Clove must have been hiding about 10 engraved knives. Nix hurries out of the room, her hands full of them, muttering to herself.

Otto gives Clove a stern look, before taking a spot on the couch beside me. Clove rolls her eyes, sitting back in the chair, and focusing once more on Caesar.

A small window pops up on the screen, cutting to a black screen that has "District 1" typed out in uniform and bold white lettering. It cuts to the footage. District 1 feels familiar to me. We see it every year on a field trip for the Academy, and sometimes get to meet the other trainees. The square is cleaner than ours is, without the large about of dust and dirt. The stones that line the streets shine as if they were just cleaned, and the kids appear to be just as pristine. The district has also set up a stage, and their escort is already standing at the microphone.

"Where's Ophelia?" I ask Otto suddenly, noticing her absence. Otto keeps his eyes locked on the screen.

"She had some calls she had to attend to with your stylists. She's trying to coordinate so you and District 1 can get done around the same time." Out of the corner of my eye, I see Clove's mouth twitch, probably because of her fatal allergy towards society.

The woman looks just as ridiculous as Ophelia, except wearing all shimmering green, right down to the gems that must be real emeralds that adorn her throat. But unlike Ophelia, she has a low melodic voice, though still with the Capitol accent, and is calmer and more serious. Because of the escort system, she must be considered one of the best, but her style is very different than the other tributes.

The tape skips to the calling of the first name. "Glimmer Belladon." At the same moment, Clove and I try to cover up our outbursts of laughter at the girl's name. District 1 is famous for their outrageous names. People think that District 2 is obsessed with naming their children after famous rulers or legendary warriors, but District 1 is a completely different story.

Onscreen, a curvy girl with long, wavy blonde hair struts out of the 17-year-old section. The way she smiles, the way she walks all signal manipulation and a certain dangerous appeal to the crowd. A couple of people cheer as "Glimmer" walks up towards the stage. The camera zooms up on her face as she beams. She is indeed pretty, but in a way that makes me uncomfortable. Her face is too flawless, makeup too perfect, smile too practiced. Her eyes are green, just like Clove's, but very different as well. Whereas Clove's are very dark and deep, seemingly going on forever and sucking you in, Glimmer's eyes are a twinkling emerald green, which flash as the camera catches them.

A voice sounds in the crowd. Another girl runs from the same section Glimmer was from. She is shouting at the top of her lungs, pronouncing that she has volunteered. Glimmer whips around, blonde hair swinging around her neck and face. I don't have time to see the other girl's face, because the minute she gets level with Glimmer, she trips, sprawling over the granite. The footage rewinds, zooming up on the two girls and going into slow motion. It shows Glimmer sticking out on stiletto-heeled foot, and sending the girl flying. With that, Glimmer gives a short laugh, wrinkling her nose slightly.

"With all due respect, I don't need a volunteer," I can see her swing her foot, kicking the other girl in the stomach as she continues walking up to the stage. When I turn, I see Clove with a surprised expression.

"Whoa there," she comments. "Major bitch alert." Nix throws her a look, and I try to keep from laughing. Even though Clove and I don't get along, there is a part of me that wishes we could. She has the rare ability to speak her mind, hit the nail on the head, and to make me laugh. It's an ability that few people around me possess. I shake my head. Clove is my competitor, and she's proven she wants nothing to do with me. I can't think of her that way.

After Glimmer reaches the stage, the footage cuts again. The escort has spoken the next name. No sooner is the name called, than an older boy erupts from the group of 18-year-olds. He waves one arm, as if he's waving to a friend that is standing across the road. The escort nods at him as he jogs up to the podium. He looks cocky, overconfident. His face breaking into a half-smile, one that looks down of everyone around him. Other than that, he appears very un-extraordinary. He has light brown hair that is swept off his forehead, and smoky blue eyes. When the escort offers the microphone, he snatches it out of her hand, still grinning with his arrogant grin.

"Marvel Bennet," he announces proudly. Clove makes another sound at the base of her throat again.

"Well isn't that _Marvelous_ for you." I can tell that Otto is already getting sick of her snide comments.

"He's going to be your ally. Keep your critiques to yourself." Clove rolls her green eyes, upper lip curling, and sinks further into her chair.

The television cuts back to Caesar. "There we have it for District 1! Two very enthusiastic looking tributes!" A picture of Glimmer appears on the side of the screen. "Glimmer looks like a gorgeous girl, and seems like she indeed has the passion to make it through the games." Caesar gives a short chuckle. "So passionate in fact, as you all saw, she fought to make sure she remained a tribute!" Caesar laughs once again. "And Marvel!" An image of Marvel replaces Glimmer. "He seems like a strong tribute, and certainly has the right attitude to succeed in both the Capitol and the arena. And now, to District 2!"

The Reaping tapes of us are interesting enough to watch. Clove appears as the clever loner girl with a reputation, as she is really. I look like the obviously trained career tribute that can't wait to get into the arena. I guess that is a fair reputation, though I really need a better standout angle than that. Then, it is time for Caesar's comments.

"Well viewers, this was an interesting District indeed. On one side, we have Clove Larsen. If the name or girl seems familiar, it's because this is not the first time this lovely tribute has been Reaped. She was chosen at age 13 to participate in the Hunger Games," in the right hand corner, a video of Clove's original Reaping begins playing with no sound, "only to be replaced with her sister, Lin. However, we all remember Lin's unfortunately disturbing death that dropped all of our jaws. But it seems like her little sister is ready to go into the Games full of fire!" I look at Clove. She has her jaw set, and eyes narrowed, barely conveying any emotion. I try to shrug her expression off, but in a strange way, it just seems so pained.

"And then we have Cato Valorious, who just seems like a victor already!" I can't help but grin. Caesar smiles as my picture appears on the screen. "I mean, look at him! He is the image of a brave, strong, powerful tribute. We could just hand him a crown for the Most Likely to Succeed!" Otto pats me on the back as I beam at the screen. I see Clove making a slightly disgusted face. I can practically feel her radiating jealousy.

For District 3, the tributes look like frightened children. The girl is small and mousy, and looks terrified when her name gets called. She practically had to be dragged to the platform. The boy looked stronger, with a wide build and short haircut, but there was still fear burning in his eyes. Caesar must have had a difficult time saying nice things about them.

District 4 showed much more promise, being a career district. The girl volunteered. She was tall, tan, and visibly muscular despite her frilly white top. She had strong looking shoulder, and a tight set face, with brown eyes and dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. When she was asked her name, she spoke with confidence. "Xenia DeBirs." Though her name was odd, Clove and I didn't question it.

"That's what I call ally material," she says with approval. I nod slowly, as the film cuts to the boy. I'm anticipating it. If the girl was strong, than the boy could be a possible ally and threat as well.

I couldn't have been more wrong. The name "Ethan Wade" was called, and a small boy came from the 12-year-old section. He was tiny and scrawny looking, with small shoulders and a small heart-shaped face. His skin was spattered with freckles, and he had pale brown curly hair. Otto shook his head.

"He'll get killed in the bloodbath for sure," he says with a sigh. Caesar tried to put a positive front, calling the boy brave and mentally strong, though the kid was trembling as he stood on stage.

The next districts were a blur, each one melting into the next. There were only two main standouts, both of which were pointed out by Clove, and not in a good way. When a girl from District 5 graced the stage with amber eyes, pale skin, and bright red hair, Clove smirked proclaiming, "All hail the Red-Haired Wonder." Next, when the girl District 8 went to climb the stairs and tripped over, taking quite a hit to her head, Clove wagered, "How much do you want one of us kills her in the first 3 days?"

Then we got to District 11. When the name "Rue Samuels" was called, a tiny and delicate looking girl with dark skin, hair, and eyes walked up to the stage, shaking. However, as she walked, she inclined her chin, trying to control her lip as it trembled. I could see that she was stronger than she seemed, and I wished that she could live, just for a moment. When I turned to look at Clove, I saw that she wasn't looking at the screen at all, but rather at another chair. Her face was set in stone again, attempting to give away nothing. I could tell that part of her was hurting for little Rue.

Next, the boy was called. I remember my mother telling me that she wanted him to be my ally. I soon saw why. The minute the name "Thresh Doriston" was proclaimed, a large guy from the 16-year-old section walked up to the stage. He was 2 years younger than I was, but he was just as big, just as strong looking. He was built like an ox, with broad shoulders and a broad chest. I could see the muscles popping from his neck as he clenched his jaw. He looked darker than Rue was, both in skin and hair tone, but also in personality, but gave her a tender look as he graced the stage.

"Ally," I announce, not caring whether or not anyone disagrees. Nix nods, her red hair bouncing.

"Better a friend than an enemy, that one." I can't help but agree. If Thresh is skilled with a weapon, than he could pose a serious threat to my victory. I nod along with Nix, as the words "District 12" flashes across the screen.

"You ready for some more terrified tributes?" Clove asks in a low voice. Otto smirks.

"I heard there was actually something noteworthy in District 12 this year," he points out, pointing a forefinger at the screen, where a horrifying woman wearing only shades of pink was taking the stage.

"What? In District 12, the district that only has 1 living victor? Give me a break," Clove scoffs, making a face and shaking her head.

Onscreen, the escort has chosen a name from the large glass bowl of paper. She opens her mouth, looking reluctant at first. She seems a little bit inexperienced for an escort. Her cheeriness seems extremely forced, and her smile looks almost pained.

"Primrose Everdeen," she announces, scanning the crowd expectantly. After a moment of silence and some hushed whispering a small, petrified looking girl with dull blonde hair in two braids. She takes small steps, looking stiff and absolutely terrified. I notice her white blouse is coming out of her skirt in the back, making her look even more childish.

"Prim!" A strangled cry of distress comes out of the crowd. "Prim!" The voice is female, and she sounds older. A girl with olive skin and a swishing dark brown braid runs out of the 16-year-old section. She looks almost as scared as the other girl. "I volunteer!" She shouts, standing in the center of the isle and catching her breath. "I volunteer as tribute." I turn my head, looking at Clove's. She looks like she is holding her breath, nostrils flaring, and eyes wide.

For a moment, there is deliberation between the mayor and escort. It is almost unheard of for there to be a volunteer in an outlying district, much less District 12. They two people on the stage seem to agree. The escort turns to look at the dark haired girl. "Let her come forward," she pronounces. The older girl continues walking to stage. The younger girl, Primrose, grabs onto the girl's arms and skirt, screaming at the top of her lungs. Finally, a tall guy with the same coloring as the older girl drags Prim away.

The escort says something else as the older girl takes the stage that I can't hear over the murmuring of the crowd. I assume she is asking for the girl's name.

"Katniss Everdeen," the girl says stiffly. Clove's eyes spark in recognition. They have the same last name. The two girls are somehow related. That makes them almost identical to Clove and Lin.

"I bet my buttons that was your sister," comments the escort. Cloves visibly flinches, her lip shaking and curling at the same time. I can see her begin to become unhinged.

"Clove?" I ask, concerned. She shakes her head closing her eyes. When they open again, they are full of rage.

"I'm going to kill her," she mutters. "I swear I will kill Katniss Everdeen if it's the last thing I do."

**A/N: Hey readers! It's me again! I would once again like to thank you guys for your support and reviews! This chapter was a bit longer than usual, but I hope you enjoyed it. I am making a special announcement because I noticed that a lot of people seemed to like the Clato chapter. So I have a challenge! If you can message me the title of the song that I got inspiration for my fanfic title (The Fear of Falling Apart), than I will let you give me a concept for the next Clato scene I write! You have to be the first person to get the song title right, and the concept has to be within reason. I will give the winner credit at the beginning of the next chapter, and might consult with you over the concept! Thank you again for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Clove**

"You picked _that_ over acting like you don't hate me?" Cato looked at me with a disgusted face as he ran one of his large hands through his hair. I crossed my arms over my chest, wishing that he would just stay out of the way and leave me alone. I don't need a life coach, and I've told him so. Too bad he never listens.

It isn't really that big of a deal anyway, and I have made my own decision. When I first saw the dress that was prepared for me to enter the Capitol in, I had considered refusing once again. But it became clear to me that if I wasn't pretending to be in love with Cato Valorious, than the angle Nix had chosen for me was the next best thing.

The dress was cream colored and strapless, with a high waist and a full skirt that reached down my small body until it cut short just above my knee. The fabric was similar to satin, and Nix told me that it would catch the light of the Capitol cameras well. It didn't matter that it wasn't the original: this dress was as close as you could get with a few small modifications.

It was made to be a replica of the one I wore the day I was first Reaped. Of course, this one was more mature and looked as if it was to be worn by an older girl, which it was. I was informed that I would be acting as a changed victim, the girl who is traumatized at an early age and had to bring herself up from the ashes and rise to face the world. I guess that I sort of like the story, because it's mostly true, and I just get to be myself. It's also a story that people will pity, admire, and be interested in. I might hate involving myself with my sister's death, but it's better than letting Cato betray my trust later in the Games, when things turn sour.

"It's my life," I remind him, pulling a strand of dark brown hair out of my face. Thank god Nix didn't want me to wear hair bows. Instead, my hair just hangs in one shiny chocolate colored sheet.

Cato's face tightens, and he looks out the window instead. He too has changed his clothing, putting on black dress pants and an orange short-sleeved button down shirt. I can tell that there is something else he wants to say, but frankly I don't want to hear it. I am focused on my game plan. 1) Impress sponsors. 2) Get a good training score. 3) Get into the Games. 4) Kill Katniss Everdeen.

My sister lasted to the final 8 in her death game. I remember that as the amount of tributes got lower, I became more hopeful. The further she made it, the more I thought she could win. But I was wrong. I can identify with little Primrose. There is that feeling of responsibility, and you can never let your guard down. You are always anxious about losing your sister, and you can never relax. That feeling that you have when you realize that she's dead will never leave you. But it was worse for me. Lin had made it so far. I had began to think she could actually win. Then my world came crashing down, and it hurt so badly. I have to help Prim. I can save her a world of pain. The quicker her sister dies, the less pain it will cause her. I would consider it a mercy killing.

Cato doesn't understand that, and he doesn't understand me. I consider that a good form of protection, but sometimes I wish I could give him the chance, give someone the chance. But I won't tell Cato about myself. Ever.

There is one thing that training for the Hunger Games robs all the trainees of: the ability to trust. You don't look at another trainee the same way. They could be manipulating you, using you, or plotting against you. Right when you think you know who someone is, they turn around and stab you in the back, in the actual Games quite literally. That leaves most of the top students as loners or manipulators. I'm a mix of each, and from what I know of Cato he's a manipulator.

"Anyway," he says, pushing himself up so he can see out the train better, "I won't bother you anymore then." I let go of the breath I was holding in relief.

"Thank you."

"Even if I think you're making the wrong decision."

"Again, I don't need you approval." I see that mischievous twinkle return to his crystal clear eyes.

"But you want my approval."

"Don't flatter yourself Cato." He cracks a crooked smile, biting his lip.

"Flattering is a special skill of mine," he jokes. I roll my eyes, unable to control it.

"Well, I'm sorry to inform you, but you're failing." I keep a straight face, trying to look completely serious. This only makes Cato smile wider.

"Oh no, really?" I shrug at his response.

"Sorry to disappoint," I reply. "I can't change your skill range." Cato opens his mouth to respond, but is cut off when Ophelia enters, with Otto and Nix flanking her sides.

"Get up you two!" she trills. "We'll be out of this tunnel and in the Capitol in only a few short minutes." Cato immediately springs off the seat like some sort of trained animal. I take a moment to fix my skirt before standing up as well. Ophelia looks at us proudly, like we are her children finally graduating from school or something. "You look truly _fantastic_." Ophelia is practically squealing as she leads us to the exit dock on the train.

"Ophelia has been diligent enough to schedule your chariot preparation with Glimmer and Marvel," Otto announces.

"You mean Shiny and Fantastic," I sarcastically correct. Otto doesn't miss a beat, but Cato is smiling once more.

"You'll each get prep with your respective genders, and then you'll get some time together once in costume. It's very important for you both to secure your alliance with them."

"Don't worry," I retort, "we'll be on our best behavior."

"You'd better be," Ophelia twitters, missing the sarcasm. Nix puts a hand on my shoulder as the train begins to slow. "Pleasant faces! Smiles!" Ophelia orders, putting a hand under my chin and inclining it. Outside the doors I can hear a buzz, a type of roar that must be coming from a massive crowd.

The train halts, and the doors slowly open. There is a flash of almost blinding white light before my eyes adjust to the incredible sight that is before me. The buildings of the Capitol, which I have only seen on television before, are even more spectacular, more shining, taller, and more impressive. I see Cato's eyes grow wide as he scans the scene as well. Between two of the building, and leading up to the third, there is an empty isle, which I assume is for us to walk down. On either side, there are masses of the garish Capitol people. I am almost blinded again by the bright flashy colored and freakish faces, along with the large neon signs many of them are holding up. To make matters even more overwhelming, the shouts, screams, and calling of the crowd is close to deafening.

Nix gives me a shove forward, and I assume that Otto does the same, because the next thing I know, the both of us are striding down the isle, with the escort and mentors in tow. I smile, despite being completely uncomfortable, and even wave as we walk. I catch a couple of signs with my name on it, along with Cato's. His signs are more numerous, but I enjoy seeing mine more, of course. A woman with a variety of power blue tattoos that cover her skin, wearing hideous and shapeless clothing, holds my personal favorite. It is mostly typed out, reading: Support District 2-It's lovely. However, the woman seems to have scrawled a "C" onto the front of "lovely" so it instead read: Support District 2: It's Clovely.

I walk like a machine, and before I know it, we have reached the training building, blocking out the obnoxious Capitol crowd, and instead standing in the large lobby-like space. Across the room, lounged in chairs, sit the District 1 folk, Glimmer, Marvel, the escort, and the female mentor.

Glimmer catches my eye, immediately standing up and tossing a strand of her gold hair over her shoulder. She's changed her Reaping dress for an indigo flowing skirt and a puffy white blouse. Seeing her in person makes her seem even more unbearable, in some strange way. Her eyes flash in the same way they did when she tripped and kicked that other girl. I don't trust her as far as I could throw her.

Marvel also rises from his seat. He hasn't changed much since I saw him in the Reaping tapes. He is wearing a black suit coat now, along with dress pants. It makes him look more professional and a little more experienced too, but I can still see the arrogance flashing in his face.

Cato, Glimmer, Marvel, and I simply exchange looking as our escorts speak to one another, exchanging their "hellos," "good-to-see-yous," and "how-are-yous." There is an underlying feeling of tension. As the adults continue their conversation, Marvel decides to break the silence.

"Hello then," he says, in a voice that sounds strangely unsure.

"Nice to meet you." I step in before Cato can say anything. "I'm Clove, and this is Cato. You're Sparkles and Wonder, right?" I purposely get their names wrong again, just for the fun of it. Glimmer doesn't seem to find it funny though.

"Wrong. My name is Glimmer, and this is my district partner, Marvel," she snaps, clearly irritated. I shrug.

"Oops. Sorry." Cato gives me a look that tells me to shut up.

"Good to meet you," he interjects, smiling and offering a hand to Marvel. They shake hands. He again offers up his hand, this time to Glimmer. She smiles coyly, taking it and giving him a limp handshake. I can see it all over her face. She thinks that she's controlling him.

"It's my pleasure as well," I add, keeping my hands to myself. Marvel nods, and I can see him looking me over. I turn to Glimmer. "Indigo is a pretty color on you." I meant it as a complement, but she doesn't take it as one.

"My skirt isn't indigo," she scoffs. "It's plum." I give Cato a wary look, which he returns.

"Whatever. It's very appropriate for your entrance into the Capitol." I try to save my attempt at being friendly. Instead, Glimmer purses her lips and tosses her hair again.

"You two also look very nice." Marvel picks the conversation back up. Cato mutters a low "thank you" as I do the same.

"Are you excited about the parade?" I ask, specifically to Marvel. He grins.

"Not really, but I can't wait for the Games." I nod in agreement, also forcing a smile.

"Exactly. The sooner I get in that arena, the better." For a moment, I think Marvel isn't going to be that bad, but when Cato turns his head to look over his shoulder, he winks at me. I fight the urge to gag, and instead raise my eyebrows.

"I think that the parade and interview are respected and important parts of the Hunger Games," Glimmer retorts. The side of Cato's mouth twitches in annoyance, but he tries to hide it.

"We're not saying they aren't important, we're just anxious to get some action." Glimmer narrows her eyes, turning her head slightly as well.

"Well we'll have plenty of time for killing once we get there." She says "killing"

as if it has a taste, and that said taste in delicious. "But for now we need to make sure that we prepare ourselves correctly for our entrance into the Games." I bow my head in agreement.

"There's nothing wrong with that," I respond, for lack of anything better to say.

"Indeed," speaks a voice from behind us. I see a woman with the same traditional District 1 blonde hair pulled back into a bun. She is wearing a turquoise dress shirt and black pencil skirt. She must be Glimmer's mentor. She has the same clever and manipulative look as her student, though her eyes are a dark blue as a pose to Glimmer's emerald green ones.

"Cato, Clove," Glimmer announces after clearing her throat importantly, "this is my mentor, Cashmere." I do my best to suppress a laugh by coughing. Cato and I simultaneously offer our hands, which Cashmere takes willingly.

"Good to meet you District 2 tributes. I understand my tributes are interested in a possible alliance with the two of you."

Before I can say anything Cato answers, "Clove and I would be glad to have such powerful allies. We accept." Cashmere catches my eye, and I feel as if she is staring into me, rather than at me.

"Good. The stylists are ready. Glimmer and Clove, you'll go down the elevator to the left. Marvel and Cato, the one on the right." She gestures toward the two areas. "Remember, the tribute parade is especially important for sponsorship. Make sure you cooperate, not that I have any doubt that you won't do so." Cashmere looks at me when she says this. I stare right back, refusing to back down. She cracks a smile, looking down. "We'll meet you after you're prepared." With that, Cashmere leave, walking back to Nix, who gives me a sharp nod. Glimmer is already walking over to the elevator, and I have to catch up with her.

We don't speak as the elevator goes down to the preparation rooms, but I feel that we both have a mutual understanding of each other. We aren't here to make friends. We're here to become victors, and when other people aren't watching, there isn't a reason to pretend that we are here for anything else.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Cato**

Her smile had seemed so kind, and welcoming when I first met her. She seemed so nice, such a pleasant person. Then she ripped almost all my body hair out of my skin.

I wince, my skin still stinging as I wrap the robe over the hospital-like gown once more. Renee smiles at me, her pink eyes, hair, and lips all freakish, but not quite covering up her obvious natural beauty. She gives me that sweet smile again, gesturing for me to exit the waxing room.

"Congratulations champ," she teases. "You're done here." I snort, rolling my eyes in a very Clove way.

"I don't suppose you're going to apologize you sadist." My comment makes Renee break out into a tinkling and melodic laugh.

"Funny you should call me a sadist, seeing as you're about to go into a death game to kill droves of children." Her words don't faze me like they should. I have never had a problem with the idea of killing mere kids when all they wanted was to continue living out their lives with their loved ones. Instead of thinking more about her statement, I shrug, walking over to the door.

"What form of medieval torture is next?" I ask, not really looking at her overly pink form. Renee manages to get in front of me, opening the door so I don't have to bother. I wonder if she knows what my costume will be. She is part of my prep team, but not my stylist. She helps out where she is needed. Thus far she has done a lot. Cleaning. Waxing. Other than that, her two co-workers, West and Lux, polished and fixed my cracked and semi-dirty fingernails, along with "shaping" my eyebrows.

"You're getting your hair cut with the District 1 boy." Renee smiles again as she passes me over to West, a petite man with interestingly shaped bright green facial hair and several piercing on his face. He nods at his assistant, seeming pleased. As West smiles, I can see gold teeth. "Have fun then Cato." Renee gives a tentative wave as she returns to her station.

"Sure," I mumble under my breath, "I'll 'have fun.'" West must have heard my little snippet.

"Oh come on now, tribute parade and interviews are the best part!" His accent is even more obnoxious than the usual Capitol dweller, and he bugs out his eyes in a horrific way as he speaks, trying to look enthusiastic, but rather looking horrifying.

"Whatever you say," I reply dryly. West seems to take my approval as a cue to lead me to the next station, where two salon chairs are positioned next to each other. Marvel is already sitting in one of them. His face displays his obvious discomfort, and his is looking significantly less confident than he was in the elevator. "See?" West tells me, sounding triumphant. "Nothing compared to the waxing station."

"I significantly hope so," Marvel interjects as I sit down. His hair is wet, as is mine, but unlike me, his looks plastered onto his forehead. His prep member is standing at the ready.

I groan. "Tell me about it." The two men share a brief chuckle that makes me feel exceedingly uncomfortable. I can see Marvel stiffen in his chair. To my right, West pulls out a trolley full of his supplies and tools. The other man does the same, as they both get to work. Marvel and I share an awkward moment of silence, which I decide to break.

"I wonder how Clove and Glimmer are getting along," I say, smiling involuntarily at the very notion. Marvel gives a short laugh.

"Whew," he breathes. "That's one confrontation I do not want to be in the middle of." I wish I could nod in agreement, but am pretty sure that if I do so, West would personally kill me.

"Two personalities I don't want to mess with," I agree. I can see Marvel smirk in my peripheral vision.

"Why? Clove seems okay." I can't help but snort.

"Clove? Okay? She was intent on pissing you both off the minute she met you."

"_I_ thought it was funny. In District 1, people just see the names as normal. It's weird to think of them the way you do." I have to hand it to Marvel for being pretty easy-going. Glimmer certainly wasn't.

"Clove doesn't care about alliances or angles or anything. She wants to win, and she won't stand for anyone who gets in her way. Clove doesn't want alliances. She wants it to be her against the world." Marvel pauses, thinking of a response.

"She seemed friendly enough." I want to stop myself from saying anything that I would regret, but I want to assert myself. The way that you do that is by proving that others aren't as good as they seem.

"Friendly isn't a word that describes her properly," I point out. West is now working in front of me, completely focused on snipping as many gold strands of hair into the perfect places. "I would use cruel. Paranoid. Antisocial." I want to slap myself. You have to be a different person in the Games, but if I met my other self, I would hate him. Clove isn't any of those things. I would call her sensitive. Powerful. Clever. I spew the lies I think are best for my angle, for the alliance. It doesn't matter what I think or feel anymore. The only thing that matter is that I get everything to play out the way I want.

"Really?" Marvel seems to be shocked.

"You know," I suggest, "emotional baggage and all." I can see Marvel out of the corner of my eye, and he looks confused.

"Emotional baggage?" I laugh.

"Did you even pay attention the Reaping tapes? How her sister was killed in the 70th Games after volunteering for Clove? Does this ring any bells?" Marvel stays silent for a moment.

"I didn't really watch the Reapings with that much interest. Our mentors already knew exactly what we were doing, so it was sort of pointless." He goes quite for another moment, thinking. "Wait, what's Clove's last name?"

"Larsen," I answer automatically. Marvel pauses again.

Finally he says, "No way."

"You're going to have to be more specific," I answer flatly.

"Her sister wasn't that girl who got that thing from the bats." I close my eyes for a second, trying to remember. I get it.

"Yup. I think her name was Lin." Marvel gives out a nervous laugh.

"Oh my god," he says, baffled, "that is _some_ emotional baggage. I had nightmares for a week after I saw that death." I don't want to admit that I have never actually seen what happened to Lin Larsen. It is a sign of weakness, something that I would be embarrassed to tell my competitor.

"It was brutal." I try to sound enthusiastic. Marvel certainly seems so.

"With her skin everything." Marvel makes a nauseated noise. "And then her partner throwing that bomb. It was just the icing on the goriest cake in history. The camera was covered in-" I don't really want to hear about it, despite my overwhelming curiosity.

"It screwed Clove up, I think." I interrupt. I want to have a little bit of respect for Lin. I don't want her death to be glorified, or spoken about in such a light manner. Marvel speaks of her death like it was some sort of grand scene in an epic fantasy game. I wonder if anyone will speak of the tributes of these games in that way.

"Duh it screwed her up!" Marvel sounds increasingly stupid. "_I'm_ screwed up." I seriously doubt this, but simply stare in front of me instead of adding anything to our discussion. "Do you think that puts her at a disadvantage?" Marvel asks the question out of nowhere, suddenly seeming even more interested in the conversation about Clove.

"Um," I pause, "maybe. I mean; it depends on what happens once we get in the arena." I can tell that West is getting to the end of my makeover. Next to me, Marvel nods. I can see him grin like a shark that has just found a wounded seal. I think that Clove and I might me underestimating the ability that gives Marvel his arrogance. He seemed so harmlessly stupid, but now I see a different side of him. It's malicious, plotting, evil.

"What about Glimmer?" I ask, changing the subject.

"You know, she seems like such an idiot when you look at her, but the minute you look away, she'll stab you in the back. I've never met such a manipulative person in my life. She gets ruled out because of her appearance, but she's just as vicious as you and me." West begins brushing off my face and neck. Marvel's prep worker seems to be taking more time. Before we can talk more, I stand up with West's direction. He hands a mirror to look at my new haircut.

It looks exactly the same. Barely anything has changed. It is a little shorter, and more stylized. I realize that my face looks sharper because of it. It looks more like it's set in stone, not the smooth and soft looking appearance that it usually holds.

"Come Cato," West says eagerly. I look back at Marvel, who also seems like nothing has changed.

"See you later Marvel." I don't wave. Marvel's stormy blue eyes harden as we hold eye contact for a moment. It's like we're seeing each other for the first time. He sees that I am not the beast that I built myself up to be. He sees through the disguise I donned for survival. He sees that I just want to recognition, to live, not to kill necessarily. I see that he isn't just an arrogant District 1 tribute. I see him as he is. He's been toying with me the entire time, getting the information that he wants. I thought I was in control, but I wasn't. He was in control of me.

It looks like are allies are more of enemies then I give them credit for.

"Nice talking to you Cato." I turn my back, following West, yet feeling more exposed than I had when Renee was waxing me.

"Orson has finished preparing your costume for the parade. I have a feeling that you will like them." So far, what people expect of me isn't true, so I am not optimistic. "You see, Orson is thinking outside the box for this year. He isn't confined to just masonry. He is thinking of what you District 2 tributes represent…well, I don't want to give it all away." I have a sinking feeling that whatever the costume is going to be, I'm going to hate it.

As we walk down the hallway to where my stylist is waiting me, I see that there is someone else outside the door. West looks intrigued as well, quickening his pace. I can soon see the identity of the person. I shouldn't be surprised.

Clove is in a robe identical to mine, and is looking just as pristine and clean. I can see that her ridiculously long hair has been cut, now a couple of inches short than it was. It suits her better, making her look taller and much less compact. However, her face is set in a blank but pained expression. Her eyes are locked on the door, and she doesn't even turn around when West arrives at her side.

"Orson is going to be helping both Cato and I," she says, her voice not giving away anything. She still doesn't move, her arms crossed over her chest, shoulders tense. West nods, continuing to stand next to her. Clove's eyes flicker for a moment to look at him before she stares at the door again. "He told me to wait out here with Cato. You're supposed to go back to your station." West looks skeptical.

"I'm sorry Ms. Larsen," Clove's fists clench further, turning her knuckles white, "but I don't have specific updated-" The door swings open, both silencing West, and causing him to take a step back as we all look at the man in the doorway.

He's…average. I expected something insanely obnoxious or special, but he looks very much like a normal person, save for the black and swirling tattoo that works its way up his neck and onto his cheek. He has white hair, and though he doesn't look very old, Orson must be approaching the middle of his lifetime. He has warm brown eyes, and he is grinning from ear to ear, almost blinding me with his almost florescent white teeth. He is wearing a simple black button-down shirt with similar black pants. As he looks from me to Clove and back again, I can see his growing excitement. "It's so good to see you," he says in a rich and slightly throaty voice. "You've finally arrived! The Capitol's new gods!"


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: Clove**

I don't want to come out of the dressing room. Not now. Not in a minute. Not ever. The more I look at the costume, the more it is not okay with me. I can see what Orson was going for when it came to the design, but I don't like the way it was executed, especially the top of the outfit.

It is gold, and structured and made as some sort of ancient armor. I have a breastplate, arm guards, and plates that cover my shoulders. I have the same on my legs and knees, with lace-up gold boots, and some sort of flowing skirt that fits into the armor. All that, I am okay with. The gold is a bit excessive, but it isn't the worst bit.

From the breastplate, there is another piece that fits around my neck and also dips down below my collarbone over the armor. It is also the same golden color, but has been made to look like they are feathers, all fitting into one another, making the piece like a turtleneck of metal feathers that circle my throat and are not only uncomfortable, but also looks ridiculous. I have also had my hair braided and twisted to fit with the helmet that is also included in my costume. It is also almost normal, except just above my ears, are too large pieces that look like wings. They sprout from the sides of the helmet and arch back to fit with its contour. The helmet gives the overall appearance that I am about to be flown away by my helmet. While I look at myself in the mirror, I seem like a bizarre mixture of a warrior and a bird.

I pull at a bit of the neckpiece, gathering my courage to exit the cramped room that I had to change. I could have had an attendant help me, but I didn't want to. I can dress myself, that you very much, and the idea of one of the Capitol freaks dressing me up in this getup makes me feel sick.

After taking a deep breath, I push the door open tentatively, setting my face so that I don't show any emotion. It doesn't matter what I am wearing. The Capitol people will likely enjoy it, and it will only be for a little bit of time. Outside the dressing room, there is a set of curtains that I have to part. As I do so, I hear Orson gasp, his hands flying to his mouth. I stare at him, as he begins fanning himself.

"Perfect!" he exclaims. "I was so worried it would look corny, but you look like a god, just like I hoped." I have to take another deep breath. Hopefully, if he likes it so much, than we will impress the sponsors. Hopefully.

I turn my attention to the couch that is positioned in the corner of the room. Cato is grinning at me, with that infuriatingly flashy smile of his. His arms are draped over the sides of the couch, and I can see that his costume is basically a male version of mine, with a few minor adjustments. He still has the shining gold armor and basic warrior setup. He also has the helmet, but his suits him better, making him look more powerful and godly, and the basic design of the thing also seems to do better with his face shape. My fists clench and I feel the heat rising in my face as I look at his neck, an area that, if it was like my costume, should be covered. Instead, his throat and much of his collarbone is still exposed. His feathery piece seems to just be part of the breastplate, wrapping around his armor rather than choking him. I can see his sparking eyes looking me over.

"Gorgeous," he comments. I can't tell if he is trying to piss me off, or trying to make fun of Orson. The heat in my face and ears intensifies.

"Shut up," I answer through gritted teeth. I turn away from Cato, instead focusing my attention on Orson. "What does this have to do with masonry again?" Usually the costumes that are made for the parade reflect the main purpose of the district of a certain tribute. District 2 is recognized for masonry, though it is also a very militaristic district. My sister was dressed as a victor statue, tying together the stonework and the victory that District 2 usually achieves. I find her costume painful to look at. I will have a statue like that built in my honor once I win. For Lin, that will never be an option. The only reason that anyone even knows her name is because of her gory demise.

"Well," Orson explains, one hand still on his cheek, "we designers are given a little bit of creative liberty when it comes to this, especially when it comes to the more popular districts. I didn't want to do something stupid like making you into bricks or whatnot. No one really remembers District 2 for the masonry. You are famous for being warriors, victors. You are gods in this world of the Hunger Games, and I made you so." I purse my lips. His explanation isn't convincing, and screams bullshit to me, but it doesn't really matter. The Hunger Games strip you of your identity in a way. It doesn't matter what your opinion is. You are instructed what to do, and when and how to do it. You don't have a choice. It isn't up to you.

"Are you feeling godly Clove?" Cato asks, smirking and his voice dripping with sarcasm. I ignore him. Instead I keep my attention on Orson and no one else.

"When does the parade start?" Orson looks at the expensive looking watch that encircles his wrist.

"You are to meet back up with the District 1 tributes by the chariots, and then the parade will begin shortly after there. I have seen most of the other costumes. You will be the highlight of the show." That's right. We're all a show, nothing else. We're the entertainment, not human beings are who are being sent to kill each other.

"Then we should get going. I can't wait to spend more time with Glimmer and Marvel," Cato mumbles. I feel a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

"Me too. We should hurry." Orson looks confused, obviously not following our sarcasm. However, like most Capitol people, he smiles, pretends to follow, and nods his head.

"Well then, I will escort you over to your mentors, and then you'll get back to your allies." I roll my eyes, and I see Cato, suppress a laugh, while holding eye contact with me. It is weird. I don't have people who look me in the eye that often. Cato seems to do it all the time, like he's trying to see something that is only hidden behind the green irises. I break off, looking at the floor as Orson opens the door. "Come my gods! Off to the parade."

"Oh joy," I mutter under my breath, as I have no choice to follow the flamboyant Capitol stylist. Before I know it, Cato is next to my, taking long strides and looking at me out of the corner of his eyes.

"Before we get back there," he whispers out of the corner of his mouth. Orson is walking several paces ahead of us, and obviously cannot hear us, as he just continues leading us to our destination. "I need to tell you something."

"Then tell me something," I reply. I don't look at him, just straight ahead, blocking Cato out.

"Seriously Clove, listen to me." I don't do anything else; just continue walking, still refusing to look at him. "Stop doing this stupid thing where you block me out just because you're afraid of whatever you think is going to happen, and just for once, _listen to what I have to say_. It might just save your life one day."

"I'm not afraid of you Cato," I hiss. "I beat you once in training, and I have nothing to fear. In the arena-"

"There you go again!" he seethes. "It's all about how you're going to win. Well everyone here would be lying if they said they didn't want to win, but there's only one winner, and you should wake up and see things as they are: a legitimate threat." I feel my mouth twitch again, but this time in irritation.

"If you see everything as a threat than you can't see clearly, because that isn't how the world is. There are some people who are never going to be anything except dead tributes." Cato is quiet for a moment.

"Have you ever even considered that you could die? That you could lose and end up as one of those dead tributes."

"Never." I say immediately. I can see Cato look at me with a pained look.

"Then I pity you, because you obviously have nothing that you care about enough to prepare." I rotate my neck from side to side. He is beginning to really piss me off again. He thinks he knows everything about these games. He has no idea.

"If I don't care about anything than I don't have anything to weigh me down." It is something I have told myself over and over throughout the years. My sister cared about someone in those games. It turned out that he was the one who pulled the pin and threw the grenade.

"If you don't care about anything than you don't have any motivation." I refuse to see his reasoning, to even consider that what he's saying is true. I have relied on myself for too many years. I don't need a coach. I don't need a friend. I don't need an ally.

"Motivation-" I begin to retort, but Cato cuts me off too quickly.

"Just shut up will you!" His voice is rising just a bit above the whisper we've been using. I can his temple and a vein pulsing in his neck. "You can't even accept anyone else's opinion because you have trained yourself to only think in one way! That's going to kill you! This whole complex you have is going to kill you Clove! Your obsession is going to be your downfall!" I clench my jaw further.

"Then let me die Cato! If you think that I'm just digging my own grave, then just let me destroy myself! What's it to you?" That silences him, because he doesn't have an answer. He seems to calm down for a moment as we reach a large room. I can see Nix' red hair in the distance.

"Just because you don't care doesn't mean I don't." Cato's voice is oddly soft, not the usually cocky or strong tone I am used to.

"If you care and you're right about what's going to happen to me in that arena, than you're going right down with me, so be prepared." I guess that stopped his stream of ready responses, because he doesn't say anything else as we approach our mentors. Nix looks tight. Her lips are a straight line, and I can see the muscles in her neck, shoulders, and arms. They are all tense. Otto looks stiff as well. I hope it's the costume, so I know that the golden feathers appall someone besides me and maybe Cato.

Orson, however, is beaming, his eyes sparkling with pure unadulterated pride. "Here they are!" he announces, his voice going up an octave as he speaks. "Your tributes, soon to be the most talked about participants this year!" Nix smiles with just the corners of her mouth. Her expression doesn't pass onto any of her other features.

"Definitely talked about Orson," she says in a flat voice. "You may go to the chariots and get the horses ready." He scuttles off. Nix sends him off like a slave, and I guess that's what the victors are. They are the slave drivers. It doesn't matter who you are. If you didn't win the Hunger Games, you are an inferior, that is, unless you are in the government.

Otto puts a hand on Cato's shoulder. "Here we go you two," he says in his thick voice, "here is the beginning of your performances. You ready?" Nix doesn't seem as happy.

"If you're going to do this, you at least have to act like you don't hate each other." Cato looks over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows in a very 'I told you so' way. I roll my eyes, shaking my head. I watch his face fall to an expression of disappointment, the way you would look at an athlete who had so much potential, and then rolled their ankle falling from a tree the day before the big race.

But I'm sick of being the disappointment, and no one is going to look at me like that once I get the chance to fight, the chance to prove myself. I will rove to Cato that he is wrong. I will prove to my father that I was the victor he wanted. I will prove to myself that I was the child that she wanted, not the one she wished she never had. I will prove to my sister that I could do what she never thought I could. But there is one thing I don't think that I can prove to myself: that I have the heart to be the one who led to Cato's death.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: Cato **

Otto gives me one last pat on the back as the stylists begin to unhinge the horses and chariots to set us off on the parade. It has become a real habit of his, and is consequently beginning to get on my nerves.

"Remember what Nix said. You and Clove, play off each other. Look regal. Powerful. Superior. Dangerous." Sure Otto. After I've failed to communicate correctly with Clove for the billionth time, we'll just play off of each other. Whatever. I simply nod, watching Nix adjust Clove's obnoxious neck ornament as she keeps as watchful eye on me.

"You have to be even better than District 1, because you're following them. District 1 tributes know how to manipulate emotions, if you haven't seen that yet. They can make you feel something. Excitement. A thrill. Fear." Clove snorts as we both look in front of us at Glimmer and Marvel's hideously pink costumes.

"Right," she scoffs, "because nothing invokes fear like hot pink fur, feathers, and sparkles." I try to keep my face emotionless, even though I think her little snip was pretty funny. Oddly enough, I have never heard Clove sass her mentor before. There has always seemed to be a bizarre mother-daughter relationship between the two. I guess I should have expected some sort of tension, especially because of Clove's tendencies, but Clove always seemed to care about Nix than anyone else.

Instead of acknowledging Clove's comment, Nix ignores it, despite the slight wrinkle of her nose at her trainees retort. "Parade will be starting soon. You guys better shine, because there are some other cool outfits. But, enjoy this you two. Tomorrow begins your training, and that's when everything starts getting more…intense." I don't know what else to do, so I just nod again, resting my hands on the edge of the chariot, my hands tense, fingers curling around the rim. Nix exchanges looks with both of us, her sharp eyes full of warning.

Clove is still refusing to look at me. I don't know why, but it makes be feel like crap. I know she's stubborn and practically impossible to talk to, but there is part of me that just won't give up on her, even when the rest of District 2 has.

I can still remember the kind, sweet girl who helped out all the time in the training center and turned pink when you commented on her knife skills. Like that, she wasn't a good choice to go into the games, but no one cared. I remember how she used to smile at almost everyone, when all the other people would frown, and how she could make you feel special just by a small gesture. Still, because of her parents, she didn't really have any real friends.

I lived down the block from her, and I remember the night of the even that has now been dubbed "The Larsen Incident." She was sat down on the curb while the police and doctors swarmed her house, wearing lavender pajamas and covered with blood. I got woken up and went to investigate. Clove was staring straight in front of her, not really looking at anything, with this empty look in her eyes, like she was dead. She didn't acknowledge anything or anyone around her. It was like a switch went off, and the misfit daughter of a drunk who just wanted to have someone became the broken cruel trainee who cared about nothing and no one unless it was helping her train.

She had to pass a mental health test to gain possession of her house, and she passed, but no one really thinks her mental state is intact. Something got screwed up the night her sister died, the night her mother died. I guess that just, the thought of who she was before makes me think that Clove isn't a lost case. Everyone gets screwed up when they begin their journey into the games, and by the end, we'll probably all be like her.

"You think you can perform just out of spite for District 1?" I joke nervously. Clove's eyes flit to the corners, so she can see me. Her mouth curves into the tiniest smile.

"If it means we get voted higher on the "Districts To Watch" list than them, I'll do anything. Just to see the look on that bitch's face." In front of us, the District 1 chariot begins moving. The first chord of the music begins and the gates open, signifying the very beginning of the tribute parade. The tremendous noise from the gigantic crowd immediately washes over us as Glimmer and Marvel journey into the bright lights. The cheering intensifies, as the people in the stands seem to have spotted them. I see Glimmer and Marvel begin to wave. Not doubt they are smiling, a perfect contrast to what Clove and I will be doing.

The chariot begins moving, and I see that Clove is also gripping the rim until her knuckles turn white. I take a couple of deep breaths, preparing myself. "You ready?" I ask, stiffly as we get closer and closer to our entrance.

"I was born ready," Clove says, the anxious edge in her voice identical to mine. "The question is: were you?" I crack a smile.

"If you were born ready, than I was created so." The next moment, the lights hit us, flashing off the golden armor. The crowd is screaming even louder as we make our entrance. I incline my chin the slightest bit, scanning the bright and various colors. There is a rush of exhilaration as I hear our names being chanted over and over. I am trying not to look so excited, but my mouth breaks into a grin despite my efforts. I raise a hand in a sort of frozen wave, and the crowd reacts explosively, the level of noise getting higher than I have heard. I see Clove doing the same, though her smile is smugger than mine, less joyful. I turn my open hand into a fist, flexing my arm in a victorious gesture. There is another surge of approval from the spectators. Flowers are raining down, bouquets signifying our success.

"You are enjoying this too much!" Clove's shout is nearly drowned out, but I still manage to hear it. "We are dressed like awkward bird warrior gods." I only smile wider. As our chariot moves on further, every person is someone new to impress. The thrill continues, washing over me in continuous waves. About halfway through our trek to where President Snow will give the address, I move my arm to rest one arm on the chariot.

I have pumping one of my arms too long, and I simply drop it onto the rim, not expecting anything except the cool metal of the chariot. Instead, when I let my arm rest, it falls onto something that is distinctly not metal, and not cool. I turn my head, surprised, and find that rather than putting my hand on the chariot edge, I had laid it on top of Clove's hand, which she must have also rested. Her head swivels, and for a moment, we are just staring at each other. I don't know who's more shocked, Clove or me. Her eyes or wide, and I can't really read her face except for her astonishment. She doesn't look particularly upset or angry, but even if she were, she'd have to mask her emotions for the crowd. I have no idea what my face looks like, but I can hear the crowd cheering louder again.

She gives me a look that tells me "Don't you dare" as I curl my fingers around her palm. I pull her hand up in mine, a sign of alliance and our unity. Clove has no choice but to go along with it. She turns her head, partially smiling, though her eyes are boring into me like her knives. I start laughing, just at how ludicrous this situation is, and the way Clove looks almost embarrassed as we raise our arms together for the crowd.

I could have lived in this parade forever, this moment of glory and recognition from masses. The rush of the music and the experience, the way we have to act around the crowd, the way Glimmer and Marvel keep looking back with pure jealously all over their faces, all combine to make a moment that I never want to end. Then I hear it.

There is a sudden disturbance. All the districts must have entered the track by now, and I'm assuming that District 12 must have just entered. District 12 should be nothing special. They aren't anything special, just an innocent looking boy and a girl who tried to save her sister. Yet I can hear the crowd going crazy. The cheering has breached a new level, louder than it was when our chariot passed, and obliterating the amount of cheering that is going on in the area we are now passing. I can hear the roar, and they are chanting. "District 12! District 12! District 12!"

I try not to be fazed, but as we reach the end of the track and begin circling, the noise is becoming deafening. I don't look back, and simply continue what I have been doing this whole time. The chant has changed to the name of the District 12 girl. "Katniss!" They yell over and over. Our reign of power has ended. No matter how much I try to bring back the attention to us, the District 12 tributes are just doing better.

The chariots begin to circle around the City Circle, in a final parade before the President's address and our exit. I scan the group of chariots. There are some terrible costumes, and some that don't stand out at all, but I can immediately spot the tributes of District 12. They are on fire.

No, I mean literally. Their black leather costumes seem to be burning, flaming tendrils from their capes leaving a trail of fire behind their chariots. I can see them both smiling, the happy pair, blowing kisses, waving. I can't help but be disgusted at their behavior. Their gestures are childish, the way a four-year-old would use their tribute parade.

I can see fire burning in Clove's eyes as well, the hatred clear. We are still doing our own thing, and as I smile, I lean over to my district partner. "I agree with you!" I shout in her ear, hoping that she hears me.

"Agree with what?" she yells back. We are beginning to settle into position for the address.

"We should kill that District 12 girl as soon as possible." Clove grins for the first time, showing her teeth and even wrinkling her nose slightly.

"I knew I would win you over," she replies, softer this time, as the Capitol anthem begins playing its triumphant tune.

President Snow takes his place at the podium, looking just as pristine as usual with his flawless suit, well cut pure white hair and beard, and stern looking face. As the crowd settles down, he begins speaking, giving his usual speech about the bravery and the honor of the tributes, their sacrifice and their example. As usual he ends with "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!" The crowd gives another deafening cheer as the President nods at each of the chariots, giving them approval, both as tributes, and to leave.

We circle once more, and are still overshadowed by the final chariot, though Clove and I still succeed in getting a few pretty loud cheers. Then, we all file back into the Training Center once more. The minute we are out of sight of the crowd, Clove drops my hand, the glow that she sustained through the parade fading along with her radiant smile. We both remove our helmets as I breathe heavily for a moment, calming myself down again.

Nix, Otto, Ophelia, and Orson are already waiting for us, along with the prep team, who ties the horses back. I offer a hand to help Clove down. She gives me another look, before getting down by herself. I exit after her, searching our mentors' faces for any sort of emotion, a sign of how we did. They look satisfied, but also upset, especially Orson.

"I was robbed!" he exclaims the minute we are within earshot. "Fire? Bah! Besides the stupid flames those costumes were crap compared to yours!" He purses his lips his nostrils flaring.

"Other than that," Otto interjects, "you were splendid. The crowd went wild with the hand holding particularly. Are you sure-" I know what he is about to ask. He wants to know whether Clove is willing to go along with the angle he had prepared.

"I had no control over the hand holding," Clove spits, obviously unhappy. "Cato grabbed my hand, and I had to play along. I have no desire to continue playing along!" Her face is flushed, her eyes wild in the calmer light.

"Clove," Nix pleads, "at least wait to see the results of the poll. We'll go by what the Capitol thinks of the hand holding, not what you do." Clove looks furious, but as she turns her head, she gets a new victim to give the look too. The District 12 tributes, their capes extinguished, have also exited their chariot. Clove's jaw tightens and sets, before she looks away from them once again.

But I don't. I keep my eyes on the two. I can see the girl beginning to notice my eyes on her, as she looks up and straight at me. I hold her sharp and cold gray eyes for a moment. She seems to look at me with newfound confidence she shouldn't have, before breaking it off again. I look back at the group, but my mind is still full of her face. She shouldn't think that she has anything on Clove and I. If anything, she should be afraid. Because of her popularity, she's sealed herself an enemy. And if she knew Clove and I, she'd know that we won't give up on getting rid of her as soon as possible.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: Clove**

I hate it when I am proven wrong, particularly when it is with Nix. And it has happened…again.

True, most of the Capitol reporting networks were focused only on the costumes of District 12, but if the obnoxious newsreaders were able to speak about anything except fire and black leather, their focus was on Cato and I, and they had absolutely nothing to say about our costumes. Laid on the large, plush bed, I changed the channel back to a chirpy gossip reporter with what appeared to be violet skin and ridiculously long and garishly painted fingernails.

"So, _obviously_, District 12 gets our District To Watch vote. And our very…very very very far second going to District 2." I snort, and roll out of the bed. I'm not late, far from it actually, seeing as I woke up at 4 in the morning, but I have a feeling that if I am not ready before 5:30, then Nix will have my head. "Speaking of District 2," the purple woman continues, "we do have something to say that is worth hearing." I keep my eye on the TV screen as I gather my training uniform out of the large and mostly empty closet. There's no break for the tributes. Reaping. Entrance. Parade. Training. Evaluation. Interviews. Killing.

I shake my head and I lay the plain black clothes on the bed, suddenly freezing as I look at the screen. To my absolute disgust, a large graphic of a heart appears, only to be immediately pierced by a cartoon arrow. Large red texts then stamps onto the visual reading: DISTRICT 2 TRIBUTES: LOVERS? It takes all my effort to keep from gagging. Every single news network has been like this. It is one thing to hear Nix and Otto talk about Cato and I, but it is another thing altogether to hear a Capitol freak say it, and realize that the entire Capitol thinks the same thing. However, no matter how uncomfortable I am, I keep walking the program as I change into my uniform.

"Yes lovely views, you read that right," the woman comments. "After the Reaping we took a look at all of the tributes and their backgrounds, and if you recall, I voted these two as the most likely tributes to win the 74th Annual Hunger Games. Therefore, I was also suggesting that Clove and Cato are the most tough, cruel, heartless, and vicious of the bunch. So, ladies and gentlemen I was just surprised as you are about to be when I was reviewing the Parade tapes and saw this." As I wrestle myself into the tight training shirt, I continue watching this woman's evidence.

I was sorry to see that she had proven her case very well.

The clips were all put in slow motion, circling things or zooming in on details that were obviously supposed to be noticed and gaped at. I had seen the footage before on other channels, but I was still surprised at how…infatuated and in love Cato and I looked. It began with Cato giving me a strangely tender look while I wasn't looking. Then it seemed that I did the same, a small smile spreading over my face. Somehow, it didn't get better the more I watched it. It got worse. Then there was the moment where Cato grabbed by hand. Oddly, the look I gave him didn't look as pissed off as I remember looking. Maybe it was just the camera, but it was scary how shockingly hopeful I looked, and how happy Cato looked. I stood still, though I had finished changing. The next clips were of us whispering to each other. However, the conversation we were having, instead of conveying the fact that we were speaking about killing a girl, looked sweet and intimate. I couldn't help dragging my palms up my face. Mercifully, the clips ended, only to cut to grape lady pretending to swoon.

"I know. It's out of nowhere, but already people seem to be supporting their romance that is guaranteed to end in tragedy. It's a beautiful thing. The most ruthless of all the tributes are showing another side of themselves." I turn off the TV. I've seen enough. I just have to wait for Nix's "I told you so" speech. I know that there is no way to get out of the doomed love story this time. She and Otto will do anything now; they can practically see the sponsors rolling in already.

I do my basic morning routine: brush my teeth, wash my face, brush my hair, make my ponytail, until I catch my reflection in the mirror for a moment longer than usual, meeting my eyes. The girl in the mirror looks shocked, and I know why. My reflection is blushing, furiously. I watch myself grimace, and take a couple of deep breathes. _I am just embarrassed. Nothing more_.

I hurriedly exit the bathroom, still breathing deeply, trying to erase the pink from my cheeks. After a few short seconds, I just have to rip off the bandage. Nix is going to force me into this romance. It's going to expose weakness. Get over it. Do it for the sponsors. I shake my head one last time, opening my door and walking out…right into Cato's chest.

I take a step back, exhaling and clenching my fists. "Are you always just lurking outside of my room waiting for me?" I snap. Cato looks as shocked and awkward as I do, before he expertly recovers, his face settling into a smug expression.

"Nix sent me to get you. We didn't know if you were awake." I reach back, shutting the door behind me and squeezing past Cato and into the hallway.

"Sure." Cato follows behind me as I walk towards the kitchen.

"You better start having trust in me, seeing as everyone else in our supposed alliance wants to kill you first." I take another deep breath. "What," he continues, that infuriating smirk of his face, one eyebrow raised, "no witty comeback this time?"

"Sorry to disappoint," I shrug. "I'm going to talk to my mentor if you don't mind, you know, do something that will help me win?" As I turn the corner away from him I can see him shaking his head, smiling to my surprise. I shake it off, clearing Cato from my mind for the time being, though I know that my discussion with Nix will be all about him.

Nix and Otto are sitting at the kitchen table, though neither of them are eating, and instead are each speaking to each other in hushed voices that are, as per usual, serious. They don't notice me as I enter, and for a moment, I don't announce myself, a short moment in which I am pointlessly hoping that I will wait long enough that my fate can be put on hold. Staring at them from the doorway, I cough. Both of them look at me at the exact same time, making eye contact with me, somehow, simultaneously.

"Good morning," Nix greets stiffly, giving me her usual look-over. Otto says nothing, just cracking his knuckles and looking slightly above my head now.

"May I have a word with you?" I ask, not returning her formality. She and Cato's mentor exchange a look, short but understanding. Nix stands up silently, nodding, her usual subtle self, save for the red hair.

We go to a hallway off the kitchen, close enough so Otto can still see us, but not close enough so he can hear. "I sincerely hope this is about the results of the parade," Nix comments as we stop.

"It is," I admit, not meeting her eyes. I had expected that the Hunger Games would make us closer, but it just made us further apart, separated. Nix has been like my second mother, seeing as my first one opted out when her favorite child died.

"Did you see the news networks I assume?" Nix is smiling like she does when she knows that the argument is hers to win. I do my best to keep my face expressionless, though the corners of my mouth twitch, wanting to frown.

"Yes," I answer tersely.

"And what did they say?" she asks me, her smile broadening.

"You don't need to brag about the fact that you correct."

"You would do the same if they hadn't mentioned a possible budding love story between you and Cato." It is becoming increasingly difficult to not have a physical reaction to those words.

"I would have an ounce of self control and decide to keep my focus on winning." This dampens Nix's smile. Instead, she purses her lips, her eyes burning into me.

"And you know the best chance that you have to survive now. And it isn't relying on sympathy cards or riding your sister's coattails." I feel as if Nix slapped me across the face. Never once has she ever commented on my connection to Lin in these games. I am not using my sister's name to earn sympathy. I have never relied on her death to give me an advantage. I didn't ask for her to die so I could win. She wasn't a sacrificial lamb for my victory.

"You know that sometimes you should be polite to a person who is making a choice in your favor," I say. "But I should have learned that you just want to make another success story. Fine then. I'll be your personal victory. Go whisper to Otto that I'll play this stupid little game and be Cato's sponsor machine and please all the Capitol freaks! I'll handle my district partner and stay the heck away from anything regarding my family." Nix doesn't react, simply staring at me studiously as if she is trying to figure out a puzzle that has mesmerized her for years, yet she is just now getting a good look at it.

"I always thought that you should never participate in these games Clove," she says slowly, "because I thought that no one could predict what it would do to you, and I know that the last thing your sister would have wanted was for you to become one of those people who begins this and comes out as a monster. You're just proving my theory. You're cracking at the edges." My face is burning, and I don't know whether it is because of shame or anger. Instead, I turn away from her, hurriedly walking back towards the kitchen. Nix is still speaking in my head, repeating her words over and again. Cracking. I don't crack under pressure. I flourish under it.

I think.

The flicker of doubt appears so fast that I don't know what to do with it. I have always trusted myself, because when it comes down to it, you're the only one accountable for your actions. If I didn't know that I was making the right decision, then I might as well just not make it all. I only have me. Clove. Me, myself, and I. And then, I don't know what I am doing, what I am supposed to do, to say, to believe. These games have taken everything from me. Why did I decide to join in? So I could die? So I could be torn down brick by brick? To survive and live a life that I am not sure I even want.

It all comes crashing down.

"Had an epiphany?" A mocking voice says. I whirl around, not realizing that I have been walking this entire time. Cato leans against the buffet, looking as sarcastic and arrogant as ever, that slight smile on his face, small sparkle in his eyes.

I push away everything, just as I was taught to. It doesn't matter right now. Live minute by minute. I raise my eyebrows, walking over to get myself a plate. "Congratulations Cato," I reply.

"On what?"

"You just earned yourself a fake lover."

**Author's Note: Hey guys! Sorry for the super really very long update time! I was out on my native country and without internet. I have a series of chapters written, but not yet typed and edited. I will be updating a lot more frequently from here on out. Again, sorry, but here is a new chapter! Next one coming soon!**


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